


To jump or fall

by andeemae



Series: A World Apart [3]
Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M, madge in the games
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-05-16 08:08:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 90,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5820820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andeemae/pseuds/andeemae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Madge has managed to keep her life in District 12 a secret during her time as a Mentor, but nothing stays quiet forever. Eventually all good things end, and Madge is going to have to decide if she'll fight to hold onto what she's gained, or continue to let the Capitol create the rules. Follow up to 'A world apart' and 'And the stars burn out'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: So here’s the final installment of the ‘Madge in the Games’ story. It’s going to take a while to finish, unfortunately. My energy for it is low, but existent, and I have the story more or less plotted out so that bodes well. After February, I’ll be a little more focused. Basically I’m posting this to motivate myself to write and not let the story just waste away. 
> 
> Anyways, thanks to Nursekelly for putting up with me.

Madge cups her hands and splashes icy cold water onto her face.

For a few seconds she grips the cold marble edge of the counter and stares at the empty sink before looking up at the mirror.

Her makeup is still perfect, no smears or running mascara. She's painted, a doll that can weather any storm.

Makeup that can withstand even the most violent tears is the brainchild of one of her fellow Victors, a fact that almost makes Madge laugh. Of course a Victor would be the one that would create makeup that can stay in place even after a good cry. In the Capitol, they need it more than anyone else.

This isn't the time to marvel at the genius of her fellow Victors though; this is just a moment to catch her breath. There's still a show to put on.

Behind her the heavy oak door glides open and Madge prepared herself for squeals of delight from someone 'lucky' enough to catch her in a rare moment off stage.

When no giggles or shrill words of excitement reach her though, Madge thinks she's managed to slip under at least one person's radar.

A few last beads of water trickle down her cheek and off her jaw, into the sink, before she blinks and takes a steadying breath.

"Oh, Magdalene, you look just delicious," a voice drawls behind her.

Spinning so fast her heels almost slip on the tile, Madge finds herself face to face with Egard Glaive.

He's spindly, pale with silver hair and a cold smile. The descendant of a former Victor with position and pull within the Capitol despite his unpleasant personality.

How he'd slithered across the room without notice Madge isn't sure, but she doesn't care. All she wants is to get away. The last place she wants to be is trapped in a room with any member of the Glaive family.

Birdy's never gone into specifics, but the Glaives are rotten to the core.

"Never let them get between you and the door," she'd warned her, back when Madge had first had the displeasure of meeting Egard and Evlyn after a concert. "And if they touch you, don't hesitate, knock their teeth out."

"But-"

"No buts," Mr. Abernathy had cut her off. "Listen to Bird."

Madge wrung her hands. "But Finnick-"

"Finnick's playing a different game, Madgie," Birdy quickly told her. "Different rules. Never forget that."

And Madge hadn't. She was spun glass, an ornament not to be touched, and she had sharp edges. They'd bleed if they tried to do what wasn't allowed.

Giving Egard a small nod of acknowledgement, Madge starts to step past him only for his boney hand to shoot out and wrap tightly around her upper arm.

"My sister and I have requested your company, but it turns out you're quite popular."

Grinding her teeth, Madge nods.

The patrons of the arts were few, but they were a powerful group. Madge's concerts had saved her from the dark fate that Finnick, Cashmere, and Gloss shared. Her music saved her from the Glaives.

"I need to get back to the stage," she tells him curtly, trying to pull her arm from his grip.

He squeezes tighter. "I don't want long."

His thin lips twist up as Madge tries again to pull herself from him.

"Let go."

Egard chuckles. "No."

It's a joke to him. She's nothing but a toy he's been denied, and now he's going to take his turn. Permission or not.

"Let me go," Madge grinds out, her eyes locked on his, narrowed, hoping he can't sense the fear in her.

His nails dig into the diamond dust speckled skin on her arm as an answer.

Before she can worry herself out of it, Madge lets her instincts take over. She balls her free hand up and plants a foot before swinging at Egard's still grinning face.

Blood erupts from his mouth, crimson spurting out and onto the floor.

It's enough of a distraction to get him to let go of Madge's arm and she stumbles back, tripping on her heels and falling into the wall.

"That wasn't very ladylike," Egard growls, spitting blood onto the floor. He grins. "I like it."

A shiver goes up and down Madge's spine and she tries to find her footing again, but she's too slow, too scared and shaken, and before she can bolt for the door Egard is back on her his body pressing obscenely against hers and his hands begin groping and squeezing, tugging at her skirt.

Madge tries to bring a knee up and hit him in the groin, but he stomps on her feet, pinning them down as he chuckles.

"I love that our little diamond has some edges," he hisses, his hot breath against her neck.

There's no fighting him. She's nothing and he's everything. All the power and privilege, and she's only a pawn in this game. She should give up.

Gale's face, smeared with coal and sweat, is suddenly in front of her, looking fearful and disgusted.

Fight, she almost hears him say. You're a fighter, you're smarter than this.

Madge half wants to shout at him that this isn't about being smart, this is about strength, and she hasn't got any, but then in the periphery of her vision she sees a glint of Egard's ruby earring.

The thought is only half formed when she acts on it.

Her teeth grab Egard's earlobe and rip the jewel out, eliciting a pained scream as he stumbles back, holding his ear.

"You little-"

Madge swings at him again, her stance more solid this time and her hit landing firmly on his nose.

He crumples in on himself, stumbling back and cupping his nose, voice muffled as he curses her.

Looking up, his face smeared in blood, he snarls, "Bitch!"

Seemingly out of nowhere, an arm wraps around his neck and green hair appears beside his face.

Birdy sighs dramatically, her expression exasperated.

"Egard, if I've told you once, I've told you a million times." Something glints in the rose colored light of the bathroom, thin and sharp, pressing into Egard's neck. "Guess you'll never learn."

Without so much as a breath of hesitation, the dagger jabs deep into Egard's flesh, sending blood gushing out and quickly soaking the crisp white of his suit.

Birdy lets him go and he stumbles as he tries to press his hands to his neck in a vain attempt to keep his life from spilling out before slipping in the already impressive puddle of blood at his feet.

He reaches a bloody hand out, pleading with his wide, panicked eyes for Madge to save him. She doesn't though. Whether out of shock or disgust that he would expect her to help him after what he'd tried to do, Madge doesn't move, frozen against the wall.

"Will you just die already?" Birdy finally asks, stepping up behind him again and covering his mouth with one hand and pinching his nose with the other.

He struggles against her, all the while still trying to hold pressure on his gushing neck, but the fight is too much. The color drains from his already pale face and his movements slow before he finally goes limp.

Rolling her eyes, as if to say 'took long enough', Birdy lets him go and he drops lifelessly to the tile with a sickening slap.

"Miss Ala-"

Madge's question dies on her lips when the door open again and in spills several Peacekeepers, guns drawn and boots banging loudly on the blood splattered tile.

"Thank god you're here," Birdy says, stepping over Egard's body as she pulls out her compact and begins fixing her hair before gesturing behind her. "Someone has murdered Egard and Evlyn Glaive."

Too stunned to speak, Madge looks toward the heavy door, now propped open by a potted fern, and spots a slumped figure against the wall.

Evlyn Glaive, Egard's creep of a sister.

She's a strange gray in the light, her blood pooled around her and saturating her evening gown, hands limp at her neck, trying to postpone the inevitable. It had clearly been a vain effort.

"We did everything we could," Birdy takes Madge's hands and smears blood on them, "but it was too late."

It's a show, part of whatever game Birdy is playing, and Madge wishes she knew the rules.

The Peacekeeper nods, his eyes tracing over the blood stains on her dress and dropping to the pool of blood around Egard's body. "Clearly." He looks around. "Round up the usuals. Family-"

Birdy snorts. "They'll be thrilled."

"-friends-"

"There's a short list."

"-and enemies."

"And that's a long list."

Turning back, the Peacekeeper jerks his head toward the exit.

"We've got this ladies, you should head home."

Madge feels herself nod, but she's rooted in the spot, eyes focused on the puddles of blood and the crimson footsteps being spread around the once white tiles.

They're dead. They were vile and sick, but they were people, and now they're dead.

It had to have been a setup, somehow, someway, by Birdy, and Madge thinks she should feel angry that she's been used as a pawn in another Victor's game, but she isn't.

There are two less monsters in the shadows, lurking and waiting to swoop in and destroy the fragile stability of those they prey on.

Even if she hadn't set out to help, Madge had. One good deed among her failures.

Despite that feeling of accomplishment, the coppery scent in the air, the squishing sound of the Peacekeepers' boots in the blood, cause Madge's stomach to roll. Bile stings at the back of her throat and her vision swims in front of her.

Leaning over, she puts her hands to her knees and tries to breath.

"Madgie?" Birdy's eyebrows scrunch together in concern as she leans in. "You okay?"

Looking up, Madge tries to speak, but her tongue feels leaden and no words form.

The room spins, Egard and Evlyn's lifeless bodies rise up and are thrown around, blood splashing, forming strange patterns on the walls as the Peacekeepers continue to work, their movements in exaggerated slowness.

"Madge?" Birdy asks again, her voice echoing, muffled, like she's trapped underwater.

The blood begins to fill the bathroom, inches and then feet of warm red liquid spills out over the toilets and escapes the stalls and pours from the faucets. No one else seems to notice.

"Miss Alameda!" Madge tries to shout, but no noise comes out, just more blood.

Birdy tilts her head, looking perplexed, and Madge tries again.

"Miss Alameda!" Why is she calling her that? She hasn't called her that in years…

When she only shakes her head in confusion again, Madge screams.

Birdy's mouth moves again, but it isn't Birdy's voice.

"Madge!"

She shakes her head. None of this is right…

"Madge!"

This has already happened…the Glaives have been dead for years...

"Madge! Wake up!"

Eyes snapping open, Madge shoots up, heart pounding and breath short, staring out into the dim yellow light from her bedside table as it illuminates her room.

Her room, in her house, in District Twelve.

A pair of warm, calloused hands run up and down her arms, then a pair of chapped lips press into her hair, her neck, then her shoulder as she finally relaxes back into Gale's chest.

She takes a ragged breath and when she licks her lips she tastes the familiar sting of tears.

Swatting at her face, she tries to wipe them off before Gale notices, but it's a pointless attempt.

"You're safe," he murmurs as he cups her face, wiping his thumbs under her eyes and smearing the tears away before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. "It was just a nightmare."

A dark chuckle rumbles in Madge's chest.

If only it were just a nightmare.

It's not though.

It was a memory, crystallized and perfect for all of eternity, Madge's to relive until the day she dies.

A wave of exhaustion washes over her and the fragile threads holding her together come undone. A battle had been won, but the war still rages on around her, and she's just so tired.

Hot tears begin pouring out her eyes, dripping off her face and soaking the front of her nightgown.

"Madge," Gale wraps her in his arms and buries his face in her hair, mumbling more comforting nonsense to her. It doesn't matter what he says, he could be swearing a blue streak at her for waking him and she'd be happy. All that matters to her is the sound of his voice, the rumble of it through his chest, vibrating against Madge, warming her to her core.

It takes a few minutes for the sobs to slow, dwindle down to a trickle of tears and hiccups, but it's still faster to die out than it had been after her Games.

It isn't perfect, but it never will be.

Time and effort have helped her heal, little by little, but the scars are still there, still stretching and ripping open occasionally. More and more often recently, forming into violent memories that ruin what little of the night she has with Gale.

Having Gale there to hold her and remind her she's safe, at least for one golden moment, has helped her hold the pieces of her mind together more than anything else.

Mr. Abernathy tries, but the Capitol has done him so much damage over the years that Madge hates to inflict herself on him if she can help it. Her mother is already so fragile that Madge can't imagine trying to confide all her anxieties in her, and her father has been so busy…

Madge winning the Games had brought an unwanted spotlight on Twelve. The fence is up, humming with electricity, more than it had been since its construction, and the Peacekeepers are more volatile. Time has eased some of the initial harshness Madge's Victory had brought down on them, but the relatively passive life that had existed before is gone now, and there's no getting it back.

Gale's hand settles on Madge's back, holding her firmly against him and she nuzzles into his chest, inhaling the warm scent of soap on his skin.

She's hurting him, she knows that, but she's certain she'd fall apart without him and she's convinced herself he needs her too. He loves her, how would they survive if they were pulled apart?

"Don't be so dramatic," she almost hears Birdy say. "You'd survive just fine without him."

Madge shudders against Gale's warmth.

She'd survive, but it wouldn't be worth it. It wouldn't be living.

A cold wind howls outside, rattling the windows and causing the house to creak and groan in protest.

Snuggling closer, Madge closes her eyes and slows her breathing, willing herself to sleep, for Gale's sake. He needs rest before another day in the mines.

"I love you," Madge whispers, pressing a kiss to his chest.

"I love you, too," she hears him mumble through a yawn, his arms tightening around her.

Blinking back tears, Madge nods to herself.

It's not perfect, it can't keep her safe, not in reality and not in her mind, and it never will be.

That's okay, though.

It's enough to hold them both together, and that's all she can hope for.

For now.

#######

Gale's eyes squint into the darkness of Madge's room, fixing on the faint silver glow growing around the window.

He'll have to get up soon, and the thought makes his bones ache.

It's spring technically, but the mornings are still winter icy and he dreads leaving the cocoon of warmth that is Madge's bed. Everytime he has to untangle himself and pull on his chilly clothes he hates the mines that much more.

Still, it's part of the illusion, and if it keeps Madge's nightmares even a little less frequent, he'll happily do it for the rest of his life.

Which it seems he's going to have to do. She's had a resurgence of nightly terrors the past few weeks.

As quietly as he can, Gale slowly, gently, begins rearranging the comforter and pillows before shifting Madge's slight weight from his chest and into the nest he's built and crawling from the bed.

Instantly, he shivers, the loss of Madge's warmth twice as painful when his bare feet touch the frozen floor.

Gale shuffles around and grabs up his clothes before ducking into the bathroom and softly closing the door.

He tries to make his morning exits as silent as possible. Madge loses enough sleep fighting monsters in her mind, she rarely gets a full night, and he doesn't want to steal anymore moments of rest from her by being a noisy morning wakeup.

"I want to say goodbye though," she's told him, more than once. "I've got all day to sleep."

Gale almost laughs at the thought. She'd like him to believe her days were easy, but he knows they aren't.

"She practiced the whole time," Vick had told Gale. "When she messed up she'd start crying. Rory and me had to keep her from smashing her fingers with the cover a couple of times."

"We made her stop and help us with our math homework," Rory added, looking thoroughly disgusted at the thought that Madge would find school work relaxing compared to simply playing the piano.

"Haymitch said she tried to bake a cake or something for us," Vick informed him on another day. "She messed up though, and there were, I dunno, thirty cakes when we got there."

Her days were filled with constantly chasing an unachievable perfection.

If she baked something, it had to be perfect.

If she practiced, she did it until it was flawless.

If she folded her laundry, hours would drag by as she ensured the creases were sharp.

Her mind demanded nothing less than perfection, and if something wasn't, she'd repeat it. Again and again and again…

Gale blames the Capitol. Everytime she's sent there she's forced into a mold she has no hope of ever filling. People aren't meant to be perfect, but Victors are expected to be more than human.

It's an ideal that's created cracks in Madge's mind, and all Gale and anyone else can do is steer her out of the repetition when she slips into it.

Gale finishes shaving, inspecting his jaw before wiping the last of the water and foam from his face and sighing before grabbing his coal dulled shirt, pulling it on, and flipping off the light.

As he opens the door he finds Madge sitting up in the bed, the comforter gathered around her shoulders and her hair a mess around her head. It's the best sight he'll see all day.

Yawning, Madge squints at him. "That time already?"

Her voice is so soft, barely a whisper breaking the cold air, and Gale almost doesn't hear it.

He does hear her though, years of tracking in the woods have sharpened his ears, and even her soft voice doesn't escape him. Nodding he walks back to the bed as he buttons his shirt.

"I'll be back early tonight," he tells her as he leans in and catches her lips in a soft kiss.

She's going to need him, as much time with him as she can get, that much he knows. Time is slipping by, and her next concert is in a few days. The train will be there for her and Haymitch in the morning, ready to whisk her off to the Capitol before Gale even has to be up.

"I wish you didn't have to go," she whispers again, before he can pull back and finish buttoning his shirt.

Gale kisses her again, a little more forcefully.

He wishes he didn't have to go either. If the choice were either of theirs he'd get to pull his clothes back off and crawl back into the bed with her. Being a kept man had never held much appeal to him, he liked being active, doing things and being useful, but that was before Madge. Spending an entire day in bed didn't seem like such a shabby way to spend his time when she was in it too.

More than he'd like not to be going to his miserable job though, he wishes she weren't being taken away again. The mines seem like a fun day trip compared to the shimmering hell that is the Capitol. Plus, Madge's exhaustion has almost doubled in the past few weeks, creeping up on her like her nightmares. She's getting sick, he just knows it, and the Capitol doesn't give a damn.

If there were any truth in winning the Games, if Victory weren't an elaborate myth, the choice would be theirs. They'd get to spend the rest of their lives tangled in Madge's soft sheets, on her comfortable mattress, not playing parts and learning ever changing rules in a game they don't understand. Not playing games and making Madge ill to please freaks.

It is all a lie though.

Gale pulls back, just as Madge's chilly fingers have crept out of the comforter and tangled in his hair.

Nose bumping her cheek, Gale sighs before pressing another kiss to her lips.

"You're making this really difficult, you know?"

Fingers unweaving from his hair, Madge smiles sadly, eyes shining as her fingertips trace along his jaw. "I'm sorry."

He isn't. The memory of her hands and her lips will keep him from going stir crazy during his shift.

Still, he's going to be late.

Sighing, he presses one last soft kiss to her lips before straightening up.

"Vick and Rory will be up after school," he reminds her.

And Haymitch will be over when the sun comes up. She won't be alone for long.

It's cold comfort, he knows that, but it's the best he's got for her.

"I know. I'll be okay."

Gale nods.

He knows she will be. She's survived worse than a few hours loneliness, but if he had his way she wouldn't have to suffer even a moment of it.

It isn't his choice though, so he forces a smile.

Despite his protests that it's too cold for her to be up and about, she crawls out of the warmth of the bed and follows him, bare feet padding on the hardwood floors, down to the kitchen.

"Mom made you something," she tells him through chattering teeth, opening the icebox and pulling an overstuffed sandwich from its depths and walking it over to him.

Much as he likes the food, he wishes Madge's mom wouldn't insist on trying to make him lunch.

Her meals are too much, more food than Gale would ever be able to afford.

For the first few years he'd simply eaten whatever his own mom had packed him and saved the sandwich for Vick and Rory to split for school.

When Posy started up though, things had gotten more complicated.

She's the only member of the family on the outside where Madge is concerned.

Posy is too young and too chatty to be trusted with Gale's secret. She'd accidentally tell one of her little friends or the teacher and then the fact that Gale spends his nights with District Twelve's most recent Victor would be common knowledge, and that's something he can't risk.

These past few years they've been careful, obsessively so in fact, about keeping their relationship secret.

Mellark knows, but he hasn't told a soul, not even Katniss.

Vick and Rory know, but they care enough about Madge, and are scared enough of Gale, to keep their traps shut.

"Besides, if we tell anyone we'd have to share her with people," Rory had pointed out.

While socially isolating Madge isn't what Gale would call a positive of the secrecy, if it kept Rory quiet he'd keep that thought to himself.

When his brothers had first made Posy a small lunch from the sandwich she'd questioned just where the meat had come from.

"This isn't rabbit or deer," she'd pointed out. "Where did it come from?"

"I traded for it," Gale lied.

That worked for a while, cold cuts and cheese from Town and candies from Matilda were passed off as amazing trades, until Posy began to want to meet Gale after work to go with him to trade.

"Maybe we can get them to give us more. I'm very pretty," she explained, batting her eyelashes ridiculously and nearly causing Rory to shoot water out his nose.

Even if Rory thought it was funny, the thought of Posy getting the idea in her head that her looks could get her things turned Gale's stomach. His dad's sister had ended up selling herself off just to keep their family afloat after their dad had died, and the image of Posy ever thinking of doing the same thing had been enough to make Gale realize he couldn't keep lying about trading.

Posy's lunches would have to be just what Gale killed himself.

After that Gale had begun leaving the sandwiches in a hollow of a tree for his brothers to gather up before school.

He hated leaving Posy out, but he compensated by making sure she got extra candy on the weekends, to make up for his no longer 'trading' after work.

Forcing a smile, Gale takes the sandwich and tucks it in his lunch pail.

Leaning in, he catches her lips again.

Despite knowing he's going to have to jog to make it on time, Gale's hands begin to wander, inching their way under the blanket Madge has haphazardly wrapped around her and tugging at her nightgown.

The responsible part of his brain, the part that kept him and his family alive for years, tries to shout at him that he's going to get a reprimand for being late, he's going to have to stay late to make up time, he might even get docked pay.

That voice is drowned out by another, much more pleasant one. It purrs in his ears, urging him on, telling him that even if he loses a day's pay it will be worth it.

Somehow Madge ends up pinned between Gale and the kitchen island, his hands wrapped around her thighs and hoisting her onto the countertop as he continues to kiss a line down her neck.

He's about to lift her up again, carry her up to the bed and tell the foreman he's been sick, when Madge pulls back, her eyes bright and her lips swollen.

"Gale, you've got to go to work," she reminds him, her voice a breathless gasp.

Grunting, Gale dives back in for her lips again. To hell with work.

She stops him with a cold palm pressed to his mouth and a sad smile.

"Work, Gale."

Chilly air finally begins to seep between them, filling the creases and crevices with cold reality, forcing all the burning thoughts and desires from Gale's head.

He has work. He has a family to feed still.

Sucking in a long breath, Gale nods. "Yeah."

"Tonight," Madge tells him, her hands wrapped in his coat, keeping him close enough to smell the tantalizing scent of her shampoo but too far for another kiss. "I promise."

Reaching up, Gale pushes a wild strand from her face.

He'd come back without it, but it's another happy thought to drag him through the day.

"I love you," he whispers.

A real smile twitches up on her lips. "I love you, too."

With one last kiss, too quick and too soft, Gale heads out, warning Madge to lock the door behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: So I finished one of my February 'must do's' today, and so to reward y'all for me having my act together, I'm giving you the 2nd and 3rd chapters. You can decide if this is a kindness or not when you get to the end of the 3rd, because I'm only about halfway through with chapter 4. You've been warned.
> 
> As always, thanks to Nursekelly for tolerating me.

Madge stares up at the display.

It's colorful, almost obnoxiously so, with huge color photos and 3D images that run on a loop.

In front of the display is a diorama, a lush green bowl with red glowing dots scattered across it.

Squinting, Madge looks across the artificial treetops, to the far edge of the diorama, at one of the lonely red dots.

Maysilee Donner-Skewer beak birds-exsanguination-5th place

If she reached out to the little glowing keyboard resting in front of the display and typed in the number 5, Maysilee's placement in the 50th Quarter Quell, footage of her Aunt's death would project over the top of the miniature Arena.

It's sick, but it mesmerizes her. Somehow, she feels like it's the epicenter of her life.

"Why is it," she hears a voice ask her, "I always find you here?"

Birdy, dressed in her usual green, crosses the highly polished floor and stops next to Madge, glaring down at the bowl and all it's glowing markers.

"Honestly, pick a game with guys worth looking at."

Rolling her eyes, Madge glances up at the smirking picture of Mr. Abernathy across from her, looking young and handsome and whole. "Don't let him hear you say that."

Shrugging, Birdy pops a piece of calamari in her mouth. "He won't."

A few minutes pass before Birdy tilts her head and looks to Madge again.

"So...why here?"

Sighing, Madge drags her eyes from Maysilee's dot, gives Birdy a small smile. "It's quiet."

As if to punctuate Madge's point, the crowd in the main hall of the museum roars with delight at something. Birdy nods.

"Fair enough."

Taking a deep breath, Madge catches a whiff of something nauseating wafting from the main hall and makes a face.

It's a huge gala, supposedly to raise money for a good cause, though what that cause is Madge isn't sure. No one has told her and she's inclined to think there isn't really one. Probably another way for Snow to sneak funds from the dull witted citizens of the Capitol.

She'd been invited to play the piano, ten pieces before the dancing began, then she was left to her own devices, which meant smile and chat, pretend she was enjoying herself. It's her part to play, the price she pays to keep those she loves safe.

If Mr. Abernathy were there it wouldn't be quite so stifling, but like most events, he wasn't invited.

"I'll be waiting for you when you get back," he'd told her as he'd kissed her goodbye at the elevators. "We'll eat some ice cream, alright?"

The promise of curling up with a bowl of strawberry ice cream in a fluffy blanket and telling Mr. Abernathy about the ridiculous costumes the party goers wore is the only thing she has to look forward to before she's finally released back home. It's the only thing that keeps her sane during her time in the Capitol.

Grimacing, Madge tries to steady her breathing as she covers her mouth and closes her eyes.

Behind her lids she pictures Gale, covered in coal dust and smiling at her. She wishes he were here now, smelling whatever awful food Birdy cooked up for the people of the Capitol. If he were here she thinks laughing with him might cure her sudden nausea.

She also wishes he'd been able to see her off when she'd left for this latest trip to the Capitol.

That wasn't in the cards though, it never was. Gale had work, and they had an image to maintain.

"What did you cook?" Madge finally asks, more to get her mind off of who can't be at this party with her than because she actually cares. "It's very...pungent."

Birdy simply frowns and sniffs the air. "Well, it is fish, but I can't smell it."

Unfortunately, Madge can, and it's awful. Birdy must have a cold.

"Let's go for a walk," Birdy suddenly says, the concerned crease between her eyes vanishing as she gestures to the long dark hall to their right, the hall with more recent Games displayed in it.

Though Madge doesn't really want to go relive the ghosts of Games past, she also doesn't want to put up with that stench anymore, so she pulls her purple, diamond speckled shawl tighter around her shoulders and follows.

They pass Cecelia's section, plain, not particularly interesting. Then Finnick's, complete with an addition documenting his post Games dalliances that turns Madge's stomach.

Birdy's Arena glows electric bright against a canvas of inky black, spots flickering off and on occasionally as they pass it without a backwards glance.

Annie's slips past, Johanna Mason's, before they stop, in front of Madge's.

Staring at the bowl containing the small replica other Arena, Madge can see the red glowing markers on the far side, the places where she'd become a killer.

There have been offers from clueless Capitolites to take her to her Arena. Back to the scene of the crime, but Madge has always been able to graciously decline.

"They just don't understand," Birdy told her, grim smile twisted up on her green lips. "They can't."

After years of shuttling between Twelve and the Capitol, Madge understands what she meant.

They aren't evil, at least most of them aren't. They're shielded, different, their morals don't match up with those of the Districts, and that creates the perfect environment for the Games, for all that comes after.

Turning her back on her own face, smiling vacantly down at her from across the miniature Arena, Madge crosses her arms over her chest and looks to Birdy.

Unlike Madge, Birdy isn't paying the displays much attention, but is instead checking her hair and makeup in her little compact.

Madge saves her questions until the compact snaps shut and Birdy gives her a slight smile. Any bugs that might be around are muted, at least for the time being.

"Well?" Madge asks, certain they won't be left alone for long. "What is it?"

Over the years since Madge's Games she's been initiated into Birdy's world. The world of the Victors who dig up dirt and help the Capitol keep the others in line and keep the people of the Capitol happy.

It's isolating, Madge learned that the first time Johanna Mason threw a glass of champagne in her face. Most of the other tolerate them, understand that they aren't gaining any pleasure from the work, but some, like Johanna, don't care. Madge doesn't blame them. If the roles were reversed, she'd hate her too.

For a long moment Birdy is quiet, turning her compact over in her hand before tucking it away in her dress.

"Finnick got passcodes."

Madge feels her heart stop.

For years, before Madge or Birdy or even Mr. Abernathy were Victors, Wiress and Beetee Latier had been scheming to overthrow the Capitol.

Their plan to create a Victor that could rally the Districts was brilliant, but dangerous, and it ended up costing Wiress her family and mind.

"We were reckless," Birdy had explained. "We thought we were smarter than we were."

And that failure had setback the plans, almost destroyed them.

Mr. Abernathy doesn't talk about those failed plans, and Mr. Latier is convinced that in a few years, once that failure is passed from memory, they'll be able to try again. Birdy thinks otherwise.

"The more I think about it," she'd told Madge, "the more shit I think that plan is."

It was too much stress, too much of a gamble, to place all their hopes on one person. Madge is inclined to agree.

"People are easy to manipulate," Birdy pointed out. "We know that better than anyone."

One threat to a family member, one act of violence or trumped up charge, and the house of cards could collapse.

"We'd do better to bring the fight to the Capitol," Madge had said, not really meaning much by it, regretting it the instant it passes her lips.

It had set a fire in Birdy's mind though, one that flares up every now and then.

Gather intelligence on the Capitol and destroy it from the inside out. Take away its ability to retaliate by crippling the military strongholds that are strategically placed around the city.

"If we took out the defenses and the electrical grid we could overrun this place. They'd be helpless," she'd told Madge one night, after a particularly awful party for the spoiled son of some Capitol Senator. "All without those people's interference."

Thirteen, the District that shouldn't exist, that doesn't exist.

When Madge had first been told about Thirteen's continued existence she hadn't believed it. How could an entire District survive the Capitol's bombing?

"By going underground, like all rats do," Birdy had muttered.

Mr. Abernathy had simply taken a long drink and mumbled something that sounded like his agreement.

Thirteen had continued to survive, in a strange, unpleasant way, and had abandoned the other District, left them to suffer the consequences of the uprising. They had technology and weapons, the ability to help, even if in a limited way, but they had skulked off, leaving the other Districts to pay the price.

It was self preservation, Madge knows that. If Thirteen hadn't backed down the war could've been worse, it was possibly mutually assured destruction, but she still hates them for their pragmatism.

After careful consideration, Madge had decided she agreed with her friend, Thirteen's help wasn't something she wanted.

They were too calculated in their cowardice, and she's certain that particular trait would come up again if they ever joined forces with the Districts against the Capitol. They're a devil she doesn't know, and not one she's all that keen to get acquainted with.

"Passcodes?" She asks after a long moment, already knowing she's going to hate what comes next.

Birdy nods. "To the military bases. It's not much use on its own, I mean, we'd need a dist-"

"No," Madge cuts her off. "We aren't discussing this."

It's dangerous and she wants no part in it. Unlike Birdy, Madge has people to lose, people to protect.

The old plan had been a colossal failure, and Madge is of the mind that any new plan would be just as destructive.

She knows too much about it as it is, and that alone makes her anxious.

"But Madg-"

"It's a losing battle, Birdy," Madge snaps. "I don't want to end up like Wiress."

And she sure as hell doesn't want her family or Gale's to end up as test subjects in some Capitol experiment, like Wiress' had.

"I know you don't, but we should at least think-"

"I am thinking," Madge cuts her off again, her voice rising. "I'm thinking this is a dangerous. I'm thinking you should've learned your lesson when they caught you manipulating people to serve your own ends the first time. I'm thinking you should just let this go because I don't want to lose you the way you lost Wiress."

The Capitol won't be so forgiving of her if she gets caught again.

They should let Mr. Latier scheme and plan. It's what he's best at afterall.

Madge hates the Capitol as much as anyone, maybe more for what it's taken from her, an aunt, security, freedom, but she understands it. It's a beast that must be treated with utmost care, not tiptoed around with weapons in hand in the hopes that it won't notice.

The lives of everyone she cares about depend on her understanding that. It's not a lesson she's likely to forget anytime soon.

For a minute Birdy looks like she might argue. Her lips form a green line and her eyebrows pull together as she glares, before she finally deflates.

"Fine," she grumbles, crossing her arms and letting out a long breath.

She stays quiet, glaring off at the display for the 75th Games with the enormous glowing visage of its District One Victor sneering down at them, before glancing back over her shoulder.

"We should probably get back," she says without looking at Madge, taking off back toward the now muffled sounds of the party, not waiting for a reply.

Scurrying to keep up, Madge follows after her.

"Don't be mad."

"I'm not."

"Yes, you a-"

"I'm not," Birdy snaps, expression tight. "You don't want to be part of this, and that's fine, but I'm not giving up on it. I got nothing to lose and everything to gain." She takes a deep breath, reaches up and brushes a wayward strand from her face. "I'm not mad. I wish I had a reason not to keep picking at this, but I don't."

She's alone. There's no Gale waiting in Ten for her, no addled mother or worried father, no one other than her fellow Victors she seems to care about. Destroying the Capitol is the only way she sees to escape that life, the only way she'll be allowed to have any kind of freedom.

That or death anyway.

"You could have a reason," Madge reminds her, thinking of Anton, the dark haired District Four Victor who's nursed a not so subtle crush on her friend for years.

Birdy makes a garbled noise, her cheeks flush, but doesn't stop, keeps her eyes forward.

Despite the heaviness of the conversation, Madge snorts.

"Laugh it up," Birdy grumbles, pressing the backs of her hands to her cheeks. "Romantic bimbo."

"Stone cold bitch."

"Damn straight."

Madge tries to muffle a burst of laughter that escapes her lips, but only succeeds in making an obscene noise.

A little smile ticks up at the edges of Birdy's lips, and she looks close to saying something, but stops when someone squeals so loudly in the main hall that Madge wonders if any of the champagne glasses broke.

"Is it too early to leave?" Madge wonders aloud, sniffing the air and catching the awful scent again. She rubs at her chest for a moment, where her dress is cutting into her and making her uncomfortably sore. "I'm exhausted."

Birdy stares at her for a moment, clearly thinking about something, before looking down at her watch. "Probably, it's not even ten." She looks up, frowning, seemingly troubled, before waving a hand toward the increasing notice from the hall, no longer muted with distance. "Back into the deep end."

Taking a deep breath, Madge nods.

For her family, for Gale, she'll smile and laugh, play her part.

It's the only option she sees.

#######

Gale taps his finger on the filthy counter, waiting for Greasy Sae to finish hacking up what she wants from the deer he and Katniss had taken down hours before.

"This thing is a monster," Gale had pointed out, in awe of their skill. It was easily the largest one they'd ever killed.

Katniss immediately started eyeing the buck, mentally pulling it into pieces and calculating the value. "These horns will make us a small fortune."

It had taken them hours to figure out how to get it back in the District.

They'd split the buck before separating, Katniss taking the 'prettier' parts, while Gale had taken the entrails to the Hob.

"This'll make a nice stew," she tells him through a hacking cough. Apparently she's getting over a cold.

Gale nods, not really listening. He's eager to get home and rest, turn on the television.

Normally he hates the television, it rarely brings good news, but tonight is one of the rare occasions when the Capitol has decided to give the Districts a rare treat. Madge's concert is going to be televised.

No one else in the District seems to care. Katniss hasn't mentioned it and not a single man on his crew, not even Thom, have said a thing about the upcoming show, not even to make crude comments about being happy to see Madge all dolled up.

It's just another Capitol program to them, but to Gale it's all he's had to look forward to since Madge left.

Someone slides up beside him and Gale fights the urge to roll his eyes.

Chesney Shumard has always flirted with him, but it's gotten more and more obnoxious over the past few years, despite Gale's lack of interest.

In the past he'd enjoyed the attention, it was a nice ego boost. Since he's been with Madge though, it's more of an annoyance.

He has a girlfriend, one that he adores, there's just the simple problem of not being able to tell anyone.

It wouldn't bother him as much if it were just Chesney, but she's hardly the only girl vying for his attention.

"Well," his mom had sighed when he'd told her about his unwanted admirers, "you are a catch."

He'd felt his face warm and had focused on washing the dishes, glad Rory hadn't been lurking near enough to hear.

"I'm a catch that's been caught," he'd mumbled back.

"But no one knows that, do they?"

And that was the heart of the problem, the soul of it.

He's taken, but as far as District Twelve is concerned, he's an eligible man.

As much as he'd tried to keep it from Madge, Vick and Rory, with their big mouths and their inappropriate sense of humor, had blabbed that Gale was getting unwanted attention.

"They thought it was funny," Madge had told him, her voice soft. "They were just trying to make me laugh."

Much as Gale would like to say he doesn't know how telling his girlfriend about how he was getting hit on by other women might be funny to his brothers, he can definitely see the pair of idiots thinking Madge would find it every bit as hysterical as they seem to.

"I'm sorry, Gale," she whispered, tears already forming in her eyes. "You should-I'm keeping you from having a normal life." Tears started pouring down her cheeks. "You deserve to be able to go out on dates, and to get married, and kids-Gale you know you want kids-and with me-with me there's no future."

No dates, no toasting, no kids.

It's all outside Madge's grasp, the Capitol has seen to that.

Before she'd dissolved into sobs, something Gale knew was seconds away, he'd started kissing her, one hand tangling in her hair and the other holding her firm to him.

He didn't care about dates, they were overrated as far as he's concerned. Wasted time and money really. Spending time with Madge alone is a much more desirable way to spend his time. Alone he get to do things he definitely couldn't do in public.

As far as weddings are concerned, Gale doesn't need a piece of paper from the government to validate what he has with Madge. Toasting a slice of Mellark's bread is more than enough to make him happy. They're committed to each other, and that's all he needs. They're as official as anyone else as far as he's concerned.

And kids…

Gale basically raised his brothers and sister, that's enough kids for him. It has to be.

As long as he has Madge, he's content.

She doesn't always believe that, but it's the truth.

"Are you coming to Birch's party?" Chesney asks, a hopeful smile on her face.

Life with Chesney, life with any girl, would be simpler than life with Madge. That isn't the life he wants though.

Forcing a regret filled smile onto his face, Gale shakes his head. "Sorry, Ches."

Her lower lip juts out in an exaggerate pout that Gale chuckles at.

"Not changing my mind."

Letting out a long sigh, Chesney puts her hands to her hips and shakes her head.

"Do you plan on avoiding society forever, Gale?"

Greasy Sae plops a rough drawstring bag down in front of him, a dull thud accompanying it, and Gale grins.

"Yeah."

Until Madge can go to parties with him, avoiding them is all he can do.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: This is a rough chapter that references some touchy subjects. Sorry. Just be aware.
> 
> Thanks to Nursekelly for all the help.

Madge listens to the heavy pounding of the rain on the sides of the Training Center, wishing she were home in her own bed.

She'd still be awake and exhausted, but there'd be the promise of Gale in the evening, and that would give her enough energy to try to be productive during the day.

Rolling over, she snuggles deeper into her pillow, pretending it's Gale.

A few minutes stretch by, or maybe s been hours, it doesn't matter, before she hears the door slide open.

It's either Mr Abernathy, who will see she's still sleeping and leave her be, or it's the redheaded avox girl that cleans her room. Neither of them will bother her, which is a blessing, she just doesn't feel up to anything at the moment.

The door to her closet opens, a little roughly, so Madge decides it's an avox, just not a particularly graceful one, and continues to ignore them.

It isn't until one of her dresses lands on her head, followed by a pair of heels and some silk stockings, that Madge realizes it isn't an avox at all.

"Rise and shine, Madgie!" Birdy half shouts at her.

Pushing the dress off her face, Madge narrows her eyes. "Why?"

There's no more parties before she departs in the evening and she isn't going out to watch Birdy cause a scene at the latest fashion show. Once was enough.

"It's noon."

"My train isn't until five."

"Which means you have plenty of time to come buy ingredients with me."

If there was one thing Birdy didn't need help with, it was procuring ingredients. She had a reputation for interesting cuisines, though she admitted she wouldn't touch any of her creations.

"You just throw a bunch of stuff together, season it well, give it a fancy name, and they'll eat it up. Literally and figuratively." She'd explained. "Personally, I think it's all disgusting."

Asking Madge to tag along is a signal she needs to talk about something, and Madge isn't eager to hear it.

She can only assume it's more about the plan against the Capitol. Why she suddenly thinks Madge is going to want to be a part of something so dangerous she isn't sure.

"I don't-"

"Please, Madge."

There's a trace of panic in her voice, something that's never been there before, and it causes Madge to sit up and frown.

Birdy is still smiling, just as she so often is, but there's a stitch of strain in it. Something is wrong, and Madge has the sudden, desperate need to know what.

Throwing the dress to the ground, Madge goes to the closet and digs out another one.

"That one's gotten too tight," she grumbles, mostly to herself.

"Haven't most of them?" Birdy asks.

Madge turns and stares at her, not certain what she's getting at.

Portia has mentioned, during Madge's last couple of visits, that she's gained a little weight.

"Probably for the best though," she'd smiled. "You lost so much right after your Games."

Since most of the added poundage seemed to be cropping up in her bust, Madge had developed the fear that the Capitol was sneaking her some kind of hormone to make her more the ideal woman. Which was more than a little annoying. All her tight dresses were making her breasts sore.

During her times at home she'd studied up on hormone therapy, to see just how founded her fears were.

Her weight gain, even her exhaustion and nightmares had to be connected, they'd all started so close together.

District Twelve's library hadn't turned up anything though, just the same old books on the human reproductive system and hormones she'd read as a child.

Where the library had failed though, her friend might succeed.

"Yeah, they have," Madge answers, frowning, hoping to divine something useful from her Birdy's enigmatic, frozen smile.

"Get dressed, Madge."

A sense of doom building in her middle, Madge rushes into the bathroom and quickly dresses.

When she emerges Birdy is sitting on the bed, flipping through a small book she'd apparently pulled from the bedside table.

"The official Mentor handbook," she snorts, tossing it away. "Changes every year. They added a whole section just for Mr. Haymitch, you know?"

Without waiting to see if Madge did in fact know, Birdy pops up and walks out the door. "Come on."

Before they make it to the elevators Madge hears her name and turns to find Mr. Abernathy glowering at her.

"Where you think you're going?"

Madge points to Birdy, now holding the elevator open.

Glaring at Birdy, he crosses his arms. "I made breakfast. Come eat first."

Madge can smell the eggs and sausage, and the smell rolls her stomach, but before she can politely decline, Birdy makes an exasperated noise.

"We don't have time for breakfast."

Mr. Abernathy's teeth grind. "Well you make time, kid. Madge has been under the weather and she doesn't need to be skipping meals."

For a minute Birdy looks like she's going to argue, but instead settles on smiling sickly sweet at him.

"Why don't you just come with us? Then we can pick something up."

It's such a strange request, Birdy has never wanted Mr. Abernathy to come on any of her little expeditions, that his mouth hangs open for a second to process what she's said.

Alarms begin going off in Madge's head. Something very bad is happening.

Mr. Abernathy must sense that same foreboding, because he vanishes in a flash and comes back with his dark raincoat already on.

Without another word, they get on the elevator and silently drop to the basement.

Madge doesn't ask why, Birdy has spent years ghosting around the Capitol without trouble, and this is just another of her secret paths.

"You'd think they'd keep a better eye on the avoxes," she'd told Madge, the first time she'd taken her through one of the secret passages. "But they're less than furniture to them. They can get anywhere, no problems."

They wind through the dark underbelly of the Center, sloping down to the sub basement, then a low slung, wide tunnel, until they emerge at a heavy metal door.

The rain is still pounding outside, Birdy pulls out an umbrella before opening the door and letting the howling winds in.

#######

Madge is still soaked and shivering when they reach their unknown destination half an hour later.

It's in the seedier part of the Capitol, the shadow filled underbelly where those who've fallen out of favor or from grace skulk around and make their way, more ruthlessly than ever before. They have nothing to lose once they've landed here.

While most of the Capitol is lit with tacky, colorful billboards, casinos, hotels, gyms, and brothels all modeled like the finest pictures from the country that existed before Panem, a candy coated dream world with multicolored gem people, this part of town looks more like a twisted nightmare.

The buildings aren't as grand, dark and battered, and the streets are littered with garbage and sad citizens.

Men and women stroll along the narrow streets, dressed in shabby versions of the last year's fashions, calling out to passersby, trying to drum up business.

"Why are we here?" Mr. Abernathy asks, scowling around at their surroundings.

"Looking for anonymity," Birdy simply answers before opening her door and stepping into the downpour.

Miserably, Madge shrugs and gestures for Mr. Abernathy to follow.

They run through the half flooded street, taking refuge under the faded red awning of a pitiful shop. The window is filled with grotesque paintings, monstrous taxidermied creatures that can't possibly be real, and what look horribly like shrunken heads.

"Lovely," Madge mutters, now more irritated than curious about why she's been dragged into such a horrible place.

"Just because you don't like it doesn't mean it isn't art," Birdy reminds her. "This stuff was in vogue a few years ago."

But the Capitol is fickle with fads, and these artists are now shunted to the dark corner.

If their art weren't so repulsive, Madge would feel more sorry for them.

"It'll come back around," Mr. Abernathy tells them. "When I was younger fur was out, now, it's everywhere."

The social conscious the Capitol had developed in regards to 'nature's own' apparently was forgotten when some scientist discovered a way to create custom animals for the production of coats and accessories. Scientifically engineered animals weren't afforded the same courtesy as naturally made ones.

Shaking away the thought of confused animals, trapped in cages they were born into, Madge looks back to Birdy. "Where are we going?"

Turning, Birdy leads them down a narrow alley that smells of rotten garbage and urine, causing Madge to gag, then around the back of the building, before finally pushing them both into a plain door.

They must be in the back of the awful shop. There are more taxidermy monsters and freakish statues stuffed everywhere, and it smells damp and musky. Madge is ready to leave the moment she steps foot in it.

Winding through the maze of oddities, they follow Birdy to a set of stairs in the floor, concealed behind several half dressed mannequins.

It winds down, into what looks to be a large, poorly lit waiting room filled with miserable looking women.

None of them look up or even act like they've seen anyone enter.

Madge frowns when Mr. Abernathy wraps a hand around her arm, looking up to ask him to loosen his grip, but letting the request remain unsaid when she sees his face.

His normally olive complexion is gray, eyes wide and worried, sweat mixing with the rain still on his face. She might not know where they are, but he clearly does.

A small boy appears in the in the only exit and Birdy immediately goes to him, exchanges a few words, then waves for the other two to follow.

Despite looking ill, Mr. Abernathy lets Madge pull him along.

The hall is only a few feet wide, a low ceiling, bathed in a dim yellow light, with a strange humidity hanging around. It's stifling, and Madge immediately wishes she was back upstairs with the monsters.

The boy leads them to a small room, just one of dozens of doors that line the hall, and points them in.

"You'll be attended momentarily," he tells them, his voice soft, but void of the Capitol accent.

As the door clicks shut, Mr. Abernathy lets Madge go and grabs Birdy by the front of her dress.

"Why did you bring us here?" He growls. "We got no reason to be here."

Shoving him away, Birdy drops to her heels and straightens her dress.

"You've got plenty of reason to be here."

Before Mr. Abernathy can snap back, Madge asks, "Where is here?"

Birdy frowns. "You really don't-"

"It's a clinic," Mr. Abernathy cuts across her. "For girls that are in trouble."

Shaking her head, Madge looks to Birdy. "Trouble? What kind of trouble?"

Heart pounding, Madge tries to think of any slip ups she might've made, mistakes, poorly thought through conversations, but none come to mind. She's been perfect, she knows she has….

In the blink of an eye she sees the girls sitting in the waiting room, the defeated expressions on their faces, the hopelessness permeating them.

Suddenly, Madge knows exactly what kind of clinic they're in.

"I'm not pregnant!"

Birdy crosses her arms. "I'm from a breeding district, and I think you are."

"I'm not!" She looks to Mr. Abernathy, desperate for him to believe her. "I'm not!"

Mr. Abernathy glares at Birdy. "She's not!"

Rolling her eyes, Birdy sighs. "Right, 'cause it's not even the remotest possibility."

That silences Madge's protests.

Chewing her lip, Madge lets her eyes drop, unable to meet Mr. Abernathy's worried look.

When she'd finally told him about Gale's late night visits, she'd swore up and down it was innocent.

"And it's going to stay that way. I can't risk any accidents."

He'd looked absolutely unimpressed.

"Nothing's ever innocent with boys, sweetheart," he'd told her through gritted teeth. "Boys see a pretty girl, vulnerable, and they see an easy mark for all their little fantasies. Perverts."

"That isn't true."

"Course it is. I was a hormonal little bastard once. I know how they think."

Still, he'd let her make her own decisions with Gale, though she thinks her parents might've had something to do with that.

Now she's going to be forced to admit that those visits hadn't stayed as wholesome as she'd promised. That was hardly all Gale's fault though.

Keeping her gaze anywhere but near Mr. Abernathy, Madge tries to defend herself.

"We're careful." Always careful.

Birdy snorts. "And that always works, right Mr. Haymitch?"

The color rushes back to Mr. Abernathy's face, but before he can say anything, Birdy has moved on.

"You're eating high density foods-"

"I've been having trouble with smells lately!" It isn't her fault the only foods that don't stink to her are 'high density', whatever that means,

"-you're gaining weight, mostly in your boobs-"

"I'm getting older!" Her body is just changing. Maybe now would be a good time to voice her concerns about the Capitol giving her hormones…

"-and you are always tired!"

"I'm-I've got a cold or something!" Even though her sense of smell has gotten better…

"That something is the spawn of Dorothy setting up residence in your uterus."

Madge is too frustrated to speak, just glares tearfully at Birdy and tries to convince herself there's no possibility she's right

They were careful, obsessively so, there isn't even a chance…

Her cycles have always been erratic, even before the Games. Missing one or two isn't unusual.

Missing four is though.

A horrible sinking feeling settles in Madge's chest as Mr. Abernathy's hand settles on her shoulder.

"Sweetheart? Kid?"

Slumping into him, Madge is too numb, too horrified at her own oversight, to cry.

She's doomed them all.

The door opens and a tiny woman, shorter than Birdy, hobbles in.

Ancient, wrinkled, worn and humpbacked, she smiles kindly at Madge as she gestures to the little table in the corner.

"She's a doctor, well she used to be," Birdy explains to Madge as the woman smiles toothlessly at them. "They turned her into an avox for speaking out against the selective breeding programs here in the Capitol. She said people deserved a choice. If they wanted their baby perfect or not, that shouldn't be Snow and his lackeys' decision."

A moment passes, and Madge gets the impression Birdy has more to say, but she bites it back.

"She's discreet. Several Victors have come here when they've gotten in trouble like this," she adds.

Nodding, the woman says something, but it's all sloshing noises to Madge's ears.

"She's going to confirm the pregnancy," Birdy translates the sound. "Then we figure out our options."

Madge doesn't get a chance to question her as the tiny doctor ushers her the table and motions for her to lay back.

Pulling out a thick disk, the doctor sets it low on Madge's stomach.

For a second nothing happens, and Madge feels something like relief wash over her. Then the disc vibrates and something projects above it.

The image is blurry, gray, black, and white, fluttering insubstantially inches above Madge's stomach, then the flutter becomes more consistent. A pattern. A heartbeat.

Making another indecipherable noise, the doctor points to the hologram.

Her words are incoherent, but Madge knows exactly what she means.

The strange half formed image is her baby, the flutter is its heart. She's got a life inside her, a life she and Gale created.

For half a heartbeat she imagines telling Gale. She can see his smile, the excitement at becoming a father. He'll want this child, she just knows he will. She imagines holding her baby, someone tiny and perfect, someone she already loves even though she's only just learned of their existence.

They could run away...into the woods...Gale would make sure they survived…

Just as quickly as the fantasy forms it dissolves.

They can't run away. Gale has his family and Madge hers. They can't abandon them to the Capitol.

Gale is going to be exposed. His whole family is going to be trapped in this world, and it's Madge's fault.

Maybe, she thinks in a panic, Gale will tell her to get rid of it. Maybe he won't want to be tethered for her. This might be too much for him, the stress of what this child will mean for him and his family...

This baby is a gift, but it feels like a curse.

Reaching up, the doctor pats Madge's cheek, smearing tears on her face before she clicks her disc and makes the baby's image disappear.

Grunting something at Birdy, the doctor turns and hobbles out, leaving Madge to her turmoil.

"What did she say?" Madge asks, her eyes still focused on the space her baby had occupied minutes before.

"She said green for go, red for no."

Tearing her eyes from her stomach, Madge frowns.

Birdy, for the first time in Madge's memory, looks very somber, very young.

"You know you can't keep it, Madgie."

Madge doesn't need clarification. She knows what fate awaits her baby. Cecelia's oldest is already being brought to the Capitol, it's only a matter of time before he's thrown into the circuit with his mother's fellow Victors.

Her baby would have the same fate. Even if Gale can stay shielded when the truth comes out, their baby can't. It's a part of Madge, and she belongs to the Capitol. So will her baby.

Gently, Madge lets her hands settle on her stomach, low, where the doctor had put her little device.

It terrifies her, but she deserves this. The Capitol has been denying her so much, and even if it's by accident, this is her chance to take something back.

She'll find a way to make this right.

"I won't get rid of it," Madge half whispers. "I'm not going to give up my baby."

"Madge-"

"You heard her," Mr. Abernathy snaps. "She's keeping the kid."

He crosses his arms over his chest and narrows his eyes.

Reaching out, Madge takes his hand and squeezes it. His support means more than he'll ever know.

Birdy makes a frustrated noise.

"Listen-think about this. You don't want to lose me like I lost Wiress, I don't want you to end up in the same mess as Cecelia." She closes her eyes. "I'm trying to help you."

And Madge knows she is. The help she wants to give her though isn't the kind she wants.

Swatting at her eyes, Madge forces a small smile.

"I know, Birdy." Madge sniffles. "But help me another way." She looks down at her stomach, still flat, still concealed. "Help me find a way to protect my baby."

A minute passes, then two, with Birdy looking helplessly at Madge, telepathically trying to talk some sense into her, before she covers her face with her hands and groans.

"I should've put my foot down when you got with that idiot-"

"Please-"

"-too late now though."

Her hands drop back to her sides and she gives Madge a half hearted smile before turning and flipping a red switch on the wall.

"We'll figure something out."

#######

Madge watches the mountains slip past and sighs.

In a few days she'll be home. In a few days she'll have to tell Gale that they made a mistake, and now their relationship is going to be exposed.

Her hands press a little more firmly to her stomach, to where her and Gale's baby is growing.

"It's going to be okay, kid."

Mr. Abernathy drops onto the bed beside her and hands her a cup of water.

"Drink that."

He's been annoyingly clingy, insisting she drink, eat, be careful where she walks, ever since they'd left the clinic.

"You're in a delicate state, sweetheart."

Madge had just smiled. "I'm pregnant, not dying. Women are pregnant all the time. I got myself into this, I'm going to get myself through it."

She's going to get all of them through this.

"It's not your fault," he'd reassured her. "It's that little bastard. He got you in this mess."

"It takes two," Madge pointed out.

He'd huffed at that, grumbling about how he was going to throttle Gale when they got home.

"I'm not thirsty."

"You don't want to get dehydrated."

Huffing, Madge takes the cup and sips it slowly, one hand still resting on her middle.

Setting the cup down, Madge leans over and rests her head on his shoulder.

"There's no way for this to end well, is there?"

Whether Gale decides to stick by her or not, the road ahead is a dark one.

Grunting, he shifts and wiggles an arm around her shoulder.

"We're gonna make it end well, sweetheart."

Nodding, Madge presses herself more firmly into his side and closes her eyes.

The Capitol has taken too much from her. She won't let it have her baby.

#######

Gale wipes the grime from his face in the trough of filthy water.

It's getting warmer, the ground temperature is rising. The mines, which start cool in the mornings, turn into small furnaces as the men fill them up and begin working. Body heat and poor ventilation are a bad combination.

"You coming by for a beer later?" Thom asks as he wipes his face on the bottom of his shirt, smearing coal across his nose again.

Popping his neck, Gale shakes his head. "My back's been bothering me."

Mostly because he hasn't been sleeping in Madge's bed.

Still, it's the truth.

"You're such an old maid," Thom grumbles, attempting to rub the smear from his nose. "Bristol swears you don't even exist anymore."

"I just had dinner with you two days ago."

Thom waves his hand dismissively. "Yeah, but once a week is nothing. Were young and free-"

"You're engaged."

"Details." Thom crosses his arm. "You turned down Chesney again. What's wrong with you?"

"I have standards."

Eyes rolling, Thom lets out a sigh worthy of Posy when Gale tells her it's time for bed.

"You aren't still pining after Katniss are you?" He asks, increasingly irritable as they clock out for the day. "Because she's wrapped around that doughy-faced Mellark's finger."

Katniss is hardly wrapped around anything of Mellark's, more the other way around, but he doesn't bother telling Thom that. He hasn't heard him any of the other times Gale has explained it.

Just like all the times he's told his friend that his crush on Katniss is nonexistent, Thom simply refuses to hear anything that doesn't fit what he thinks he sees.

"Katniss is my friend." Any feelings he had for her in the past are gone. Any feelings he had for her were just infatuation compared to Madge.

"So why not go out with Chesney?"

Not breaking his stride toward the Seam, Gale shoots Thom a glare.

"She's obnoxious."

"So am I!"

"You're not my type either."

Thom scowls. "Haha." He quickens his pace to keep up with Gale's increasingly long strides. "What about Pressley? Or Heather? Twyla?"

Stopping, Gale crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. "What does it matter who I date? Or don't?"

Thom's expression slips, his teasing smile falling into something weak and almost sad.

"Life is hard. You're my best friend and I-I just don't want to see you end up alone."

It's deeper thinking than Thom's ever done, and Gale feels a surge of gratitude that his friend is so concerned with his future. Still, he doesn't want it and he certainly doesn't need it, even if no one knows it.

Focusing on the ground, Gale kicks at the gravel.

"Thanks, but...I'm okay right now." He looks up and grins. "Damn you've gotten sappy since you got engaged."

"It's called maturity, Gale, maybe if you had an ounce of it you'd attract a higher quality of women," Thom tells him loftily.

Something squeals in the distance and Thom's eyes light up.

"Kickball!"

Without a backward glance, Thom runs off toward the street the game is apparently going on down.

Gale huffs.

"Mature. Right."

#######

Dinner seems to drag by, and Posy seems even more resistant to going to bed than she usually does, but finally the house quiets.

"Tell her we'll see her in the morning," Vick tells Gale as he pulls on his socks.

Rory, who had already passed out hours earlier, only grunts his own greeting to pass along.

Nodding, Gale ruffles Vick's hair before silently sneaking out.

His mother is still up, mending one of his mining uniforms, re-embroidering his name on the chest.

She gives him a tight smile, the same one she's given him everytime he's left for Madge's for the last few years. It's a smile that clearly says she wishes he wouldn't go, but that she isn't going to stop him.

"Be careful," she whispers as she kisses his cheek.

Gale gives her a tight hug in return. "I always am."

When he steps out the front door the air is already cool, that strange combination of moist and cold that bites through Gale's thin jacket.

Madge's train will be back any minute now, with any luck he'll make it to her house just after she gets there.

The thought of hearing Madge recount all the stupidity she's encountered on her latest trip, feeling her back in his arms and not out of reach and fuzzy on his family's crappy television, speeds his feet.

He hides in the tree line when he sees the houses are still dark, shuffling from foot to foot to keep warm, until he sees headlights coming up the road.

The driver, a peacekeeper out of uniform, opens the door and offers to walk Madge to her house and Gale feels his blood pounding in his ears.

The asshole is looking at her like she's dinner, probably thinks she's going to invite him in. Clearly he's never driven her home before.

Before the creep can so much as offer his arm, Abernathy half shoves him out of the way and leads Madge to the house.

Gale watches the asshole driver for a minute, scowling at the look of disappointment and resentment the bastard keeps tossing at Madge's house. It isn't until he gets in the car, starts the engine and is halfway back to Town, that Gale even considers going to Madge's backdoor.

He hadn't seen Abernathy slink off, but Madge will be every bit as excited to see Gale as he is to see her, so he's certain she's already sent the old drunk off.

Stuffing his hands in his pocket, Gale finds a few battered looking wildflowers he'd picked with Posy the day before. He'd thought he'd lost them.

They aren't pretty. They're missing more than a few petals and the stems are barely hanging on, but Madge can press them in her books and none of that will matter.

Smiling at that thought, Gale starts toward the porch.

Taking the steps in one bound, he pulls open the screen and knocks.

Instead of Madge though, he's greeted by a very pissed off looking Abernathy.

"You stupid sonofabitch!" He snarls before grabbing Gale by the front of his shirt and yanking him in, slamming him into the wall by the door. He twists his fists, tightening Gale's collar around his neck, slowly cutting off his air.

"You careless piece of trash," he growls, teeth clenched. "I oughta castrate you-you goddamn filthy bast-"

"Mr. Abernathy!"

Madge materializes from behind her nutcase Mentor and quickly pulls him back, chastising him as Gale tries to catch his breath.

Cool little fingers are suddenly on Gale's face, and when his vision clears, he sees Madge standing in front of him looking terrified.

"Are you okay?"

Before he can answer, she spins around and fixes Abernathy in a glare.

The bastard actually manages to look remorseful, though Gale doesn't buy it.

"Sorry, sweetheart, just…"

He forces a smile for her and she crosses her arms over her chest.

"I think you need to go home, Mr. Abernathy."

Big bushy eyebrows arch up and Abernathy glances over her shoulder at Gale. "You sure about that kid?"

For a second Madge hesitates. Her shoulders seem to stiffen and when she looks back at Gale she's chewing her lip. Just as quickly as doubt, over what he isn't sure, formed, it vanishes.

"I'm sure."

Her voice is brittle, raw, and something rolls in Gale's stomach.

Something is wrong.

Abernathy is protective of Madge, and he's threatened Gale before, but there's panic in the old man's eyes now. Something has gone horribly wrong, and he clearly blames Gale.

For some reason, Gale thinks he might deserve that blame.

"Please, Mr. Abernathy."

A long moment passes, Madge and Abernathy staring at each other, silently communicating, before Abernathy sighs and runs a hand over his face.

"I'm right next door," he tells Madge as he pulls her into a hug and kisses the top of her head, all the while shooting Gale nasty looks before stomping out.

Madge follows him out, into the dark hall, and Abernathy casts her one last soft looks before opening the door and vanishing into the night.

Gale waits in the yellow white light spilling out of the kitchen, watching the two and wondering just how bad the news is he's about to receive.

The lock on the front door clicks, and Gale watches Madge for a moment.

She's still in Capitol clothes, though the ones stocked on the train aren't quite as showy. It's simple, white with blue trim that skims her knees. Still, it's too nice for a place like Twelve.

Her hair is pulled back in a simple ponytail and her skin isn't shimmering with artificial diamond dust though.

The Madge in front of him is stuck between her two worlds, half transformed, a butterfly that can't get out of its chrysalis, or maybe one trying to force itself back into one.

"He's just gonna wait on the porch," Gale tells her as she stares at the distorted glass of her front door. It's just pointing out the obvious really.

He hears her laugh softly before she turns. "I know."

For a few seconds she just stares at him, her expression unreadable in the shadow of the hallway.

There's anxiety all around her, coming off her in waves, and Gale can't stand it.

In two long strides he's stepped into the shadows, to the little welcome mat in front of the door, and pulled her to him, burying his face in her hair. "God I missed you."

She makes a strangled noise before Gale feels her face pressing into his shoulder, tears soaking through his shirt.

Smoothing down her hair, Gale shushes her.

It isn't unusual for her to cry when she gets home from the Capitol, the trips are rough. Normally, though, she clings to him. They're home to one another.

Instead of wrapping her arms around him, melting to him and calming, Madge keeps her arms crossed over her middle, a physical barrier between them.

Pulling back, a little hurt but more concerned, Gale cups her face, brushing tears from her cheeks, smearing them messily as he does.

Someone hurt her, he just knows they have. She's always said she's safe, but Gale has always known that her safety was at the whim of the Capitol, and they're flighty at best.

Maybe someone found out about him and used that against her. That would explain Abernathy's trying to kill him.

His eyes instantly start scanning her for injury, even though he knows their bastard doctors will have healed everything up. The only thing they can't patch up is Madge's mind, and that's what's been done the most harm.

This one of those times when he should be gentle, calm her down and make her sit with a cup of tea or water before he starts asking questions, but the hairs on the back of his neck are on end and that sense of danger, the one he normally only feels when he's in the woods and something vicious is nearby, is forcing adrenaline through his body.

Something is wrong with her and there isn't time to tread softly.

"What's wrong?"

It comes out sharper than he intends, harsher, and Madge winces.

Closing his eyes, Gale sucks in a breath and tries again.

"Whatever it is, I want to help."

She chews her lip, her eyes shining in what little light filters in from the kitchen. Probably trying to think of how to tell him something so awful, something she probably wants to forget.

"Madge-"

She stops him, her cool palm pressing to his mouth.

"Gale...I'm pregnant."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: Thanks to Nursekelly for the help.

Relief floods Gale's body. No one had hurt her.

Then he registers just what she's said.

For a few moments Gale isn't sure he's heard her right, he can't have heard her right.

She can't be pregnant. She can't.

He starts to ask her if she's joking, and then why she would think that was funny, but the anxious expression on her face kills the questions. She's serious.

"Madge…"

Her name hangs in the air between them, frozen between a question and a comfort as Gale tries to think.

Madge is pregnant. He'd screwed up, and now her biggest fear, that he and his family would be thrown in front of the cameras, is going to come to pass.

Gale had been careless, at least once, and now everything they've worked to keep secret is going to be exposed in spectacular fashion. The Capitol won't have it any other way.

No wonder Abernathy wants to murder him, Gale should step out on the porch and let him. It's no less than he deserves for his recklessness.

Eyes drifting down to Madge's stomach, still flat, still keeping their secret, the panic starts to ebb away.

For better or worse, all the secrecy is over. All the lies and sneaking around are going to end.

And they're going to have a baby.

He immediately begins imagining what it'll look like. Dark haired or blonde? Gray or blue eyes? Boy or girl?

None of that really matters though, as long as it's healthy...

Madge's hand slips from his face, settling, palm flat to Gale's chest as her expression grows more and more dim, drawing Gale back into the moment.

"I'm sorry, Gale," she whispers. "I wasn't careful-an-and I wasn't paying attention or I would've known soo-"

Before she can finish whatever half thought through, ridiculous thing she's about to say, Gale dips in and quiets her.

At first she's too stunned to speak, but then pushes him away, eyes wide and confused.

"Gale-"

"Madge," he cuts her off, his voice a raspy whisper, "we're gonna have a baby!"

He rests his forehead against hers, soaking in the moment, pretending that they're just normal people with boring lives. Pretending this is the start of something good and not the end of all they know.

Hesitantly, Madge's expression eases. Not quite calmed, but the tension halved. Then the edges of her lips quirk.

"We are, aren't we?"

Pressing his lips to hers, then to her forehead, Gale pulls her into a hug.

"We are."

#######

Gale lets his hand rest on Madge's stomach as she sleeps, her back pressed to him.

It's still flat, no telling swell yet.

"When the doctor came back in she said I was probably 16 weeks, but she couldn't be certain," she'd told him as they sat at the kitchen table and he'd pushed food at her, encouraging her to eat. "I'm not hungry. You're as bad as Mr. Abernathy."

If the asshole made sure she ate then Gale would take back at least a quarter of all the shitty things he's thought about him. Maybe half.

No, just a quarter.

"So a fall baby," Gale moved on, handing her one of the pastries he'd found in the fridge. He grinned. "Those are the best babies anyways."

If Gale and his siblings were anything to judge on.

Madge tore the pastry in half. "Mr. Abernathy was a fall baby."

Gale's smile fell. "There's always a fluke."

For the first time since telling him about the baby, Madge laughed.

"He'd say the same about you."

Huffing, Gale rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, well, your mom will defend me," he grumbled.

All thoughts of Abernathy vanished in that moment and grin formed.

"Your mom is going to be beside herself." He could already see Matilda's face lighting up. She'd been telling him how beautiful his and Madge's kids were going to be for years.

His mom was probably not going to be quite as thrilled.

He could picture her thin face tight with concern, worried about Gale's future, about all of their futures.

She'd come around though. It's her first grandchild after all.

The laughter had died on Madge's face.

"Gale, we have to be careful," she'd begun, her voice soft, frightened again. "We can't tell anyone."

"It's going to come out." Literally. "I know they're idiots, but they're going to notice you're pregnant. It's gonna be hard to miss."

A weak smile flicks on her face. "I know. What I mean is, we can't tell them yet."

"You don't have much time." She'll be starting to show by the time the Games roll around. Not enough that it'll be too much to hide, but enough to be a potential problem.

She'd chewed her lip, thinking, before sighing.

"It's just-it's very important for us to do it after the Games." Gale opened his mouth to ask why, but she was already moving to that. "If we do it before, it'll take attention from the festivities, and we don't want to do that."

The Games are the Capitol's centerpiece, and Gale could see why upstaging it might be starting their child's life on the wrong path.

"We don't want to upset President Snow. It's very important we let the dust settle from the Games."

They have to start out on the right foot. Even if Gale would rather spit in Snow's face, he'll learn to play the Game. For Madge, for their baby.

So Gale had nodded, promised her he'd keep everything a secret.

"What about after?" He'd asked, thinking of the stories Madge had told him about the children of the other Victor, Cecelia. "What about when it gets older?"

He won't let them hurt their kid. If he has to take on the entire Capitol, Snow himself, he will.

Madge had rubbed her eyes, looking past exhausted.

"I'm working on it." She'd forced a weak smile. "One disaster at a time."

Gale had let the matter drop, mostly because she'd seemed so tired and he doubted she'd been sleeping well in the Capitol. She rarely did.

He'd come out of the shower, followed by a plume of moisture filled air, to find Madge standing in front of her mirror, examining her nonexistent bump.

Coming up behind her, Gale had wrapped his arms around her and pressed his nose to her hair.

"Do you want a boy or a girl?"

She had looked so serious, her nose scrunched up and eyes focused on her reflection, Gale half thought she was trying to see through herself for the answer.

"Whatever it is," he'd answered, "I just want it to look like you."

Rolling her eyes, Madge snorted. "You know, I'm pregnant. You've already got me snared. You don't have to butter me up anymore."

Chuckling, Gale brushed the hair from the back of her neck and kissed a line across it. "Just making sure it sticks."

When she'd let out a wide yawn, Gale had hoisted her up and carried her to bed.

It had only taken a few minutes for her to drift off, looking more contented than she had in weeks.

Gale though, is still wide awake.

Happy as he is that the secrecy is going to end, his gut twists knowing what's ahead.

Not even his nightmares will prepare him for what he knows is probably waiting for him in the Capitol.

Madge rolls, pressing to him, a sigh ghosting across his chest, and Gale smoothes her hair.

Much as he wants to be the hero, swoop in and rescue her, he knows he doesn't have the skills to fight this battle. It's going to take more than physical strength to protect them.

He presses a kiss to Madge's hair.

She's smart, she'll think her way out of this. Think of a way to protect their baby.

He's certain of it.

Until then, he'll just have to trust her.

She's the one that knows how to play the game after all.

#######

Spring warms and the last of the snow finally melts away, leaving muddy earth and damp detritus of the fall and winter in its wake.

Madge spends most of her days with her mother and Mr. Abernathy, cleaning the house and opening windows, ridding the house of the stuffy, closed up smell of winter.

Her mother hums to herself as she has Mr. Abernathy drag rugs outside to beat the dust out of them.

"Why can't we wait on those boys to come up to do this?" He asks in irritation as he pushes the dining room table off the largest rug in the house. "Make them earn their keep for coming and eating all the food."

"If you'd let us help you it wouldn't be so much work," Madge reminds him. He's been even more resistant to letting them do any kind of lifting than he was before.

He'd snapped at Madge for carrying a vase down the stairs earlier, telling her it was too heavy and she was going to trip and she needed to be more careful.

"Are you still sick, love?" Her mother had asked from her spot hidden in the linen closet just below them.

Madge had glared at Mr. Abernathy, warning him that he needed to be more careful with his words while her mother was around.

"I don't see why we gotta keep it from her," he'd complained when Madge had told him the baby was going to remain a secret until after the Games. "She's not a gossip. She can keep it quiet."

It was too much of a risk though, and Madge couldn't put her mother at risk for failure.

"No, mom," Madge answered. "Mr. Abernathy's just being bossy."

"Don't be rude, Haymitch."

He'd muttered darkly to himself after that, keeping his warnings unsaid but practically sprinting around to keep Madge from picking up anything heavier than a thick blanket.

Still, moving a table isn't something he'd have let Madge or her mother help with even before the pregnancy. At least that wouldn't draw her mother's attention.

Ignoring Madge's offer to help, he continues swearing to himself as he tries to move the table.

"Oh, Haymitch, you're going to hurt you back," her mother finally says, shaking her head sadly. "Let's just wait for the boys-"

"I don't need those little perverts' help," he snaps, shoving the table a few more times.

"But you said we should wait just a minute ago…" Her mother frowns, eyebrows knitted together, thinking she's missed something.

Taking her hand, Madge gives it a squeeze. "He did. He's just being grumpy."

Giving the unmoving table one last push, Mr. Abernathy runs a hand over his face before turning and smiling lopsidedly at them.

"Yeah, you had it right, 'Tilda." He shoots the table a look before walking away, draping an arm over each of their shoulders and guiding them toward the kitchen. "I'm just hungry."

Instead of continuing their war on dust, Mr. Abernathy begins cooking, giving Madge's mother a job that doesn't require actually using the stove and making Madge sit and watch.

By the time he finishes, a pair of footsteps are thundering up the back steps and bursting in the door.

"I won!" Vick announces as he kicks his boots off and throws them back onto the porch, narrowly missing Rory's head.

"Only because I was talking," Rory defends himself.

"You were ogling Chastity."

"Talking!"

"Uh-uh!"

"Do you boys want a macaroon?" Madge's mother asks, looking strained from their shouting.

Both Rory and Vick grimace before nodding, taking the cookies, and shuffling to the table.

Madge sets out some plates, and despite grumbling about 'freeloaders', Mr. Abernathy takes his skillet of sautéed meat and vegetables and plops it in the center of the table.

"What were you talking to Chastity about?" Madge asks.

Rory's fork hovers in front of his mouth and he grins.

"School's putting on a play. I'm trying out for the lead."

Vick rolls his eyes. "He's only doing it 'cause Chastity is trying for the girl lead."

Smirking, Rory shrugs. "So?"

"I'm guessing there's kissing in this play?" It's the only explanation for Rory's sudden theatrical ambition.

"A ton."

Mr. Abernathy lets out a hiss that sounds like 'pervert' but pretends he's just burned his tongue.

"What play is it, dear?" Madge's mother asks, picking at her meat, fishing out a pepper slice and passing it on to Mr. Abernathy's plate.

"Romeo and Juliet."

Smiling to herself, Madge laughs. "You know it's not a happy story, right? It's a tragedy, Rory. They both die."

"But they do a lot of kissing before," Rory reminds her. "I read it. I know."

If he does get the part, Madge dearly hopes she can find a way to sneak to the school to watch it. Rory's undoubtedly unique interpretation of Romeo would be a welcome sight.

Still laughing to herself, Madge takes a bite of her meat and finds it a little dull.

Reaching across the table, she takes the salt and gives it a few shakes.

"Are you craving salt, love?" Her mother asks absently, examining another pepper from her plate. "Craving salt means a boy, you know?"

Madge almost chokes on a yellow pepper. "What?"

Oblivious to Madge's panic, he mother nibbles at her own pepper before making a face and giving it to a bewildered looking Mr. Abernathy.

"Salt means a boy. Sweets mean a girl." She smiles to herself. "I ate so much chocolate covered fruit…"

Heart pounding, Madge tries to steady her breathing.

"Why would that matter, 'Tilda?"

Mr. Abernathy looks pale and confused. Clearly he hadn't told her.

Smiling brightly at him, Madge's mother leans toward him. "Because I'm going to be a grandma, Haymitch."

The room goes silent and Madge thinks she can hear both her heart and the baby's heart beating in her head.

She doesn't even question that her mother knows, she's got a strange knack for figuring out things she shouldn't. All she can do is pray she hasn't told anyone else.

Then harsh noise forces that from her mind.

Turning, she finds Vick and Rory, both looking appropriately shocked. Madge had forgotten they were still there.

"You're pregnant?" Vick looks awed.

"I thought your boobs looked bigger," Rory says.

That draws Mr. Abernathy out of his open mouthed stupor, staring at Madge's mother.

He stands up and reaches across the table, smacking Rory on the side of his head.

"Hey!" Rory rubs his head and glares at Haymitch. "What? Like you didn't notice?"

"I didn't!" Mr Abernathy snarls, looking like he'd like to give Rory another smack on the head.

Rory's eyes flick toward Madge's mother. "Only 'cause it's Madge's boobs."

Before Mr. Abernathy can jump across the table and throttle Rory, Madge shouts, "Mr. Abernathy, sit down!"

He does, but reluctantly so, fixing Rory in a narrow look.

"Mom's gonna be so annoying," Rory moves on from Madge's breasts. He pitches his voice up in a poor imitation of his mother. "Your brother is going to be a daddy!"

He makes a retching noise that causes Vick to giggle.

The smile slips off Vick's face as quickly as it forms.

"You have told Gale haven't you?" His expression tightens.

"It is his, isn't it?" Rory adds, apparently just to needle Vick. "No one would blame you if you stepped out on him."

Mr. Abernathy makes an unintelligible noise, something like a snarl at the perceived slight on Madge's character, but Madge just rolls her eyes.

"Of course it's Gale's."

Vick looks triumphant, smirking at Rory. "See?"

Rory just shakes his head. "Can't believe you let that jerk knock you up." He barely managed to keep the smirk from his face as he adds, "Was it an accident?"

"Of course it was," Vick answers before looking to Madge for confirmation. She just smiles in resignation and nods. He nods back then glares at Rory. "See?"

"Are you sure?" Rory clearly is enjoying being particularly annoying. "You're the best he's ever gonna get. Maybe he wanted to make sure you were stuck with him."

"Rory…" Madge presses her fingers to her eyes.

"Hmmm," she hears Mr. Abernathy grunt. Probably giving Rory's insanity a little too much thought.

"Why hasn't Gale told us?" She hears Vick ask, sounding hurt.

Her mother answers for her, displaying her strange knack for knowing things without being told.

"I think it's a secret."

Letting her hands drop from her face, Madge finds both boys and her mother looking to her for confirmation.

"It is."

Rory snorts. "Not for long it won't be." He gives her an obnoxiously knowing smile. "You know you get fat when you get pregnant, right?"

Taking a deep breath, Madge closes her eyes.

Explaining this to her mother and the boys is going to be harder than it was with Gale. At least with Gale, he truly grasps the danger of the game she's playing, the fine line she's walking.

With these three, her life is some kind of mystery, dark and confusing, but distant. They don't really understand it.

She's going to have to make them though. She doesn't have a choice now.

#######

Vick looks like he's about to crawl out of his skin all through dinner.

Gale tries to ignore his open mouth gaping and staring, fidgeting, but it's more than a little distracting.

Rory, on the other hand, looks like he ate a canary. The smug grin on his face wears Gale's nerves more than Vick's inexplicable look of wonder and clear desire to talk.

Dinner goes normally.

Posy monopolizes most of the conversation, telling Gale every minute detail of her classes schedule and what games she played at recess, but his mom manages to get in the apparently exciting news that Rory is trying out for his classes 'arts project'.

"They're putting on a play."

There's a girl involved, that's the one and only reason Rory would invest his time in something other than annoying Gale. Something that Bick quickly confirms.

"He's just doing it for the kissing," he tells Gale, looking a little envious.

Rory just grins.

Posy gags. "Kissing is gross."

Gale hopes she continues that line of thinking for a long time. His brothers were bad enough, he doesn't want to imagine what a hormone filled Posy is going to be like. A nightmare most likely.

Rory shoots Gale a mischievous grin.

"Gale doesn't think so," he tells Posy, knowing Gale is her Prince Charming and it'll get him maximum amounts of shock and disbelief. "He likes to do way more than kissing."

Posy glares and puts her hands to her hips. "Uh-uh! Gale does not! He works and he comes home 'cause he's a good boy!"

Gale makes a threatening gesture, but their mom just sighs. "Rory…"

Rory is too distracted by Vick though, to pay attention.

Posy's declaration that Gale is a 'good boy' had apparently been too much for him. He'd tried to muffle a snort of laughter with a tessera roll and inhaled half of it, choking himself.

Thumping him on the back a few times, Rory dislodges the roll before shrugging.

"Whatever you say, Posy."

After that they play a game of cards that Rory somehow cheats at which ends the evening with a small brawl that ends up breaking the leg on the little table in the living room.

"That's it," their mom tells them, looking less furious and more exhausted. "Everyone is going to bed."

"I wasn't fighting!" Posy shouts through furious tears.

"You encouraged it."

And with that and a look that very clearly tells them she won't be arguing, the kids are sent to bed.

Gale sits up and helps her finish folding for another hour before her yawning gets the better of her.

"I swear those boys are wearing me out," she tells Gale as she puts the cleaned and folded laundry by the door.

She kisses his cheek and tells him goodnight and be safe before slowly making her way to the room she and Posy share.

Sadly, Gale wonders how much he wears her out, and how much more stress it's going to be for her when Madge's pregnancy is finally announced.

Pushing the thought away, Gale gets up, bones creaking, and heads to his room to pack his hunting clothes. They've been given Saturdays off again, giving him another day of hunting if the fence is down, or another day hiding out at Madge's if it isn't.

The moment he steps into the half moonlit room, he sees neither of his brothers are sleeping.

"'Bout time." Rory's grin widens. "I know a secret.

Before Gale can ask 'what?', or even just roll his eyes, Vick has bound over Rory's bed, almost flopping gracelessly onto the floor. The only thing that stops him is flying into Gale's chest.

"We found out Madge is pregnant!" He whispers loudly before he's even fully recovered his balance.

Rory rolls his eyes. "Good job playing it cool, Vick."

Vick flushes darker.

Gale feels his stomach do an unpleasant lurch.

"How?" Is all he manages to ask. There's no point denying it.

"Matilda guessed, and she said if Madge is wanting salty things then it's a boy, and that's how," Vick rambles.

"Is she wanting salty things, Gale?" Rory asks, voice heavy with innuendo.

Gale starts to tell him to stop being such a skeevey little pervert, but Vick saves him the trouble.

"Ew, Rory, that's gross!" He casts him a revolted look. "Don't be nasty. Madge wouldn't do that."

He looks to Gale for confirmation, which he gives him with what he hopes isn't a disappointed nod. The last thing he needs to do is give Rory something else to latch onto.

Adrenaline hits his system and warnings start coming out before he can think.

"Listen, this is really important, okay? You can't tell any-"

"-one, not even mom," Vick echoes Gale warning, sounding like he's repeated it a few times already.

"Madge already read us the riot act," Rory says.

Vick nods somberly.

Of course she had. Gale feels stupid for not having realized she would have. Or Abernathy would've.

"We won't say anything," Vick whispers, his voice actually low this time.

Looking to the bed, Gale sees Rory has set up, the grin gone from his face.

"We won't let anything happen to you guys."

Gale lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding and gives them a weak smile. "Thanks."

They stay quiet for a minute before Rory sighs.

"I just can't believe Madge let you knock her up." He shrugs. "She should check on some glasses when she goes back to the Capitol. It'll keep her from making that mistake again."

Grabbing the half flattened pillow from his bed, Gale flings it at Rory's head.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: Once again, thanks to Nursekelly for the help.

"If it's a boy I think you should name it 'Rory'," Rory tells her between bites of one of the cheese rolls Peeta had sold her mother. "After its favorite uncle."

"Its delusional uncle," Vick mutters, rolling his eyes.

They'd been staying later and later as the days lengthened and the summer grew closer, insisting she needed them around more since she was pregnant.

"Otherwise you've just got Haymitch to help," Vick pointed out. "We're-you know-in better shape. "

"He means Ole Haymitch is a lumpy shape," Rory clarified unnecessarily. He then flexed his arms. "Pitiful compared to this fine specimen."

Madge had just laughed. Even if all they did was eat her food and do homework, they were at least entertaining.

It was nice to have them around when her mother was too sick to come up or Mr. Abernathy dozed off at the least.

Vick flips through the book of names he'd borrowed from the library and runs his finger down the page.

"How about 'Stormy' for a girl," Vick offers up next. "It would fit with Gale's name."

Madge nods thoughtfully for a moment before grimacing.

"No," she tells him, "I feel like we'd be dooming her to be moody or something."

"If only our parents had had that kind of foresight," Rory snickers.

Despite wanting to scold him, Madge snorts into her cup of water, remembering how surly and rude the Gale that had existed before her Reaping had been.

"Maybe 'Sunny'? That'd make her...bright? I guess," Vick offers, not looking convinced himself.

Shaking her head, Madge just smiles. "Maybe we should focus on boy names."

Besides, she's already come up with a name for a daughter.

If the little life growing inside her is a girl, her name is going to be 'Savannah'. She and Gale had already agreed to it.

"Where'd you come up with that?" Gale had asked.

Shrugging, Madge had told him about her father's book of maps. "I mean, it's pretty though."

She hadn't mentioned her favorite, ill fated doll had the same name. It wasn't important.

"Okay," Gale pulled her closer, nuzzling her hair, hand settling at her stomach. "'Savanna' sounds good to me."

"Alright." Vick flips through the book. "How about Grover? Gordon? Gle-"

"I've always been partial to 'Gus'," someone says from over by the sink.

Spinning in her chair, Madge's eyes widen as they land on deep green baby-doll curls bouncing as Birdy digs through the cabinet.

After a few seconds the pulls a cup down, inspects it, then fills it with water before turning and smiling.

"'Angus' actually." She takes a sip of water. "It was my District partner's name."

For a moment no one says anything, then Rory groans. "You again."

Birdy's smile widens. "Me!"

Vick's chair grinds across the floor and in half a second both he and Rory are between Madge and Birdy.

Rolling her eyes, Birdy leans back against the cabinet. "Terrifying. I'm shaking in my heels."

"Boys," Madge hisses as she stands, "she's my friend."

"Gale doesn't think so," Rory says, his eyes never leaving Birdy.

Ignoring both boys, Madge steps around them and crosses her arms. "Why are you here, Birdy?"

It can't be good, whatever it is. Anytime she feels the need to come to District Twelve it's never pleasant.

The first time she'd come she'd brought Madge her 'options' as she'd called it. After the Quell she'd shown up in the dead of the night to discuss how Madge had 'performed' at her job. That had thrilled Gale.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" He'd snarled.

"Don't care."

She'd proceeded to drag Madge through all the paperwork they'd accumulated on Saphyre, the newest Victor from District One, deciding who would be most useful to use against her.

Parents, siblings, friends, no one was off limits.

They'd helped the Capitol finish destroying that girl. All the things her parents had told them, all the sweet moments her big brother had recounted, each and every happy memory her friends had shared, had built the foundation for her destruction.

Just the memory of how they'd calculated how best to manipulate poor Saphyre turns Madge's stomach.

Madge has no doubt this visit will be no less horrible.

"We've got shop to talk." Birdy gestures to the small swell just beginning to show at Madge's middle. She motions to the door. "You kiddos need to go."

Madge starts to tell her the boys already know about the baby, but stops herself. Birdy undoubtedly already knows that, a fact that makes the queasy sensation in Madge's stomach stronger.

When Vick and Rory don't budge, Birdy waves at the door again in annoyance. "Adios, niños."

Minutes pass and no one moves.

Finally, Birdy sighs.

"Fine, hang out until Dorothy gets here." She looks down at her watch. "That gives you thirty minutes. Don't use it annoying me."

While Birdy is refilling her cup, Madge exchanges worried looks with the boys.

"Thirty minutes?" Gale won't be home for hours. Madge feels her insides lurch and she fixes Birdy in a panicked look. "What did you do?"

It's the only explanation. Definitely.

"Don't get your panties in a wad," Birdy huffs. "I just shuffled some paperwork to make it look like the Capitol wanted a short day for wage 'conservation' or some bull shit. Harmless."

Rory glares at her. "Harmless? You made it so people will get paid less for today! People need their money!"

Madge imagines bewildered miners being sent home early without pay, all worried about bills and food, and closes her eyes. It's hardly the worst thing her friend could do, but still...

Not looking even remotely disturbed, Birdy bats Rory's concern away like an annoying fly.

"Next time I'll go with plan B then, but honey," she crosses to Rory, smiling coolly, "my back up plans always have a body count." Her smile widens. "Guess they'll at least get widow's benefits."

Before Rory can say whatever nasty thing is forming in his head, Madge steps between them.

"Thank you for not killing anyone." Madge has to take few breaths to steady herself. Not killing people shouldn't be something a person needs thanks for anyways. "But even if you got the mines closed early, Gale will go home first. He always does."

"Yeah," Vick adds, positioning himself beside Madge and crossing his arms, doing a remarkable impression of Gale. "So you should just say what you gotta say and go." He falters before adding, "Please."

Taking another sip of water, Birdy studies him for a minute, and Madge uses the time to take a good look at her friend.

She looks a little frayed, not quite her normal smooth appearance. The curls in her hair are a little loose and there are wrinkles in her dress that wouldn't be there any other time.

For half a second Madge wonders if her current predicament is to blame for Birdy's unwinding appearance.

The only thing that hasn't changed about Birdy is her expression, which is as cool as ever.

"Don't worry. Dorothy will come here first. I made sure of it."

Dropping back into her seat, Madge covers her face with her hands.

She doesn't know what Birdy's done, and she's too afraid to ask.

#######

"I can't believe this," Thom grumbles as he gathers up his lunch pail which had fallen and lost its contents on the coal dust covered ground. "Half a day's wages!"

Gale nods, glaring at his own lunch pail.

It looked innocent enough, but when he'd opened it up just a few hours before, alongside the chocolate covered strawberries Madge had sent, he'd found a book.

At first he'd thought Madge had packed it on accident. It was old and battered, clearly read through a few times, and some of the pages were dog-eared, something Madge had done with a few of her books.

Then he read the title.

'The Wonderful Wizard of Oz'

It wasn't a story he knew, but then he had never been much of a reader. Carefully, he opened it up to a page marked with a yellow slip of paper with curly handwriting on it. .

'For Dorothy-click your heels and get home.'

He'd felt his pulse quicken as he'd stared at the words, knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt who had written the note.

His first thought was he had to get to Madge. She was the home the witch meant, he knew it. The problem was work.

There was no leaving early. It was unheard of, and Gale couldn't tell his crew chief he had to leave to protect his nonexistent girlfriend from the wicked witch of District Ten.

So he'd plowed on, chipping away, counting down the long hours until the end of day whistle blew and hoping Madge's mind was still in one piece when he finally made his escape.

It wasn't that she couldn't handle herself, she's proved time and again she can. Over the past few years she's gone into the jaws of hell and come back, weary and tired, but each time a little more certain of herself.

Madge had learned to hold herself together with a kind of grace Gale didn't know existed.

Her Capitol life was separate from her life in Twelve though, and the mixing of the two puts too much of a strain on her. Something she definitely doesn't need right now.

The last time Alameda had shown up, in the middle of the night no less, it had put cracks in the careful defenses Madge keeps up in her head. It had taken weeks for her for the edginess Alameda's visit had set off to taper off.

So when the announcement came that the mines were shutting up early, Gale was the only person not grumbling about lost wages. He had much bigger problems to deal with.

Muttering something about checking the fence, Gale takes off, trying not to look suspicious as he heads for the wooded area near the mines.

Once he's hidden in the fresh green of new spring foliage, he crashes through the underbrush to the little hidden trail that leads up to the Victors' Village.

He probably makes enough noise to wake the dead as he sprints through the little strangled shrubs the occasionally jut into his path, but he doesn't care. If anyone comes to investigate he'll be long gone and they'll just think it was a feral cat fight or something.

By the time he reaches the Village Gale has a rip in the left knee of his pants, scratches of both hands, and blood smeared across the front of his uniform, his mom is going to be furious.

As long as Madge is okay though, he'll take his mom's anger.

Out of breath, Gale squints around to make sure there's no one around.

Vick and Rory have mentioned nosy kids sneaking up to the Village before, trying to figure out if they could steal anything from the newest Victor.

"But Haymitch set off some kinda alarm and it wailed and scared them off," Vick told him.

To Gale's knowledge, none of the little bastards have made anymore attempts. Still, it's best to be wary.

Once he's satisfied there are no would-be robbers, he takes another deep breath before sprinting across the vegetable patch, nearly tripping over a tomato cage, before leaping up the back steps.

Flinging open the backdoor, he half falls in as he glares around, not really sure what his plan is past getting into the house.

"Wow, Dorothy, you look absolutely stunning," he hears Alameda say. "No wonder Madgie's uterus couldn't repel your spawn."

Madge rushes over, eyes wide and frantic as she frets over his hands and the state of his clothes.

"Let's get you cleaned up," she whispers, trying to guide him to the sink. He's rooted in the spot though, eyes fixed on Alameda.

She's at the table, sipping from a cup, her green lips twisted up in an obnoxious smile.

On her left, Rory is slouched down, sour expression focused on the green witch to his right. Vick, however, looks anxious, already standing and racing over to Gale.

"She just showed up and-"

"-told them to leave," Alameda cuts him off. She rolls her eyes. "They listen as well as you do."

While Gale is glad his brothers had been there as a buffer for Madge, he wishes they hadn't been exposed to Alameda. The less on her radar they were the better.

"Since your charming brother has finally graced us with his presence, you two can skeedaddle," Alameda tells them, gesturing toward the door. "Go on, git."

When Rory stays, stony silent, she sighs nod pulls her back to her lap.

"Fine, I've got a taser in here somewhere…"

"You are not tasing them!" Madge shouts, rushing over and pulling the bag from Alameda's hands.

She looks up, her expression reminiscent of Posy when Gale tells her it's time for bed. "Just a little!"

"No!"

They go silent, battling with glares on Madge's side and sulky pouts on Alameda's, before she stands, her chair making an awful grinding noise as it does. She crosses her arms and raises her chin.

"Why not?"

"Birdy, you can't taze everyone."

"Why not?" Alameda repeats, looking genuinely confused.

Madge groans, running a hand over her face, actually looking like she might try to use normal human logic on her, but Gale interrupts. He doesn't have time for this nonsense.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

Turning, Alameda tilts her head, frowning. Maybe she'd forgotten he'd shown up.

"Oh, yeah."

Snatching her bag from Madge, she begins pulling out papers and tossing them onto the table.

"Fine, stay, go, whatever. I don't have time to argue," she huffs, blowing her bangs out of her face. "We have business to discuss."

#######

Madge watches as Birdy distractedly tosses papers around, grumbling to herself.

Normally she'd toss the boys out, it's not in her nature to be ignored, but she doesn't seem to care today.

"Now, I've got schedules for all the parties planned after the Games and I think the best time for the announcement will be after that, so August-"

"You came out and-you screwed up the mining schedule for that?" Rory snaps. "It couldn't've waited?"

Gale makes a snarling noise. "You closed the mines early?"

Madge presses her fingers to her eyes. "Birdy…"

"Look, I don't have time for all your stupid questions so just SHUT UP and let me talk!"

She glares around, her eyes a little wild and her hair growing messier, daring anyone to interrupt her again.

The room goes silent and Vick takes a step sideways, half concealing himself behind Gale.

Finally, she takes a breath, smoothing down her hair and forcing a tense smile.

"Like I said, August will be the best time to make the announcement. You'll be showing before that, but I talked to Portia and she's got plans to help hide it during the Games." She presses her fingers to her temples. "You're lucky she can keep her mouth shut. Ursula couldn't keep a secret to save her life."

Madge nods, looking down at the schedules.

Every week is booked up, from the week before the Games to the last of July. Birdy undoubtedly planned her stop in Twelve around her trips to find new foods for her club. No wonder she's stressed, she's probably got a party tonight.

Squinting down at the lines of curly writing, Madge sees the current date over harshly written notes.

A list of requests for the party, each as ridiculous as the next, are scribbled in cramped writing followed by the name of the party's patron.

DRUCILA WAVERLY-in 4

Madge closes her eyes. Drucila, Anton Del Mar's latest fling. Or at least that's how the papers tell it.

No wonder Birdy is in a fouler mood.

Drucila is a nightmare on a good day, but she's bound to be twice as awful to work with at the moment for Birdy.

Seeing where Madge is staring, Birdy quickly shuffles the papers.

"Bitch is throwing him a birthday party," she mutters, just loud enough for Madge to hear. "His birthday isn't until July."

That matter clearly means little to Drucila though.

Forcing a smile, Birdy carries on.

"Now for the meat of my visit." She tilts her head and focuses on Gale. "You'll be taken to the Capitol within hours of the announcement. Maybe even minutes."

Gale opens his mouth to ask a question but stops when Madge shoots him a look.

"No matter what happens, you have to keep your temper in check-"

"I do!"

Rory snorts and rolls his eyes. "Right."

"I'm just-she's goading me!"

"And the people of the Capitol won't?" Birdy asks, her eyebrows high on her head. "Boy, are you in for a rude awakening."

Taking Gale's hand, Madge gives it a squeeze.

He may not like it, but he needs to listen. He needs to follow the rules. Their lives depend on it.

"They'll make you presentable when you get there," Birdy barrels on, giving Gale's battered appearance a look of disgust. "All you'll need to do is smile and act like you actually give two shits about the mother of your child."

"It won't be an act," Gale snaps.

"How precious. Make sure they know it. Actions speak words, Dorothy."

"Don't worry," Rory quickly tells her, his grin making a reappearance for the first time since she'd shown up. "Gale's handsy, he'll be pawing at her like some kind of hormonal dog."

Birdy actually chuckles at that.

Gale gives his brother a withered look but Rory just shrugs, looking pleased with himself.

"Now we can probably keep them from bringing your mom into this mess you've gotten yourself into." Birdy picks up a photo of Gale's mother, probably from her wedding application by how young she looks in it. "She's old enough they won't want much to do with her. Your brothers are where the problems begin."

"What about us?" Rory asks, paling a little.

Birdy pretends not to hear him.

"They're good looking boys. Unlike you though, they won't have the luxury of having a Victor as a love interest. That'll make them prime stock for the Capitol."

Madge's knees start to give way and she leans on the table to keep from falling.

She hadn't thought of that. Of course they'd go after Vick and Rory.

They're almost Gale in miniature, handsome and charming. Madge doesn't even want to imagine what might happen to them if the Capitol got its hands on them.

"Stock for what?" Rory asks, stepping toward Vick.

"My stew if you don't keep your trap shut," Birdy tells him, her voice falsely sweet. She goes back to ignoring him. "I can keep the little one out of the pool, but in a year the other one...well there's not much I can do."

Madge sinks into her chair, her legs can't support her anymore.

Across from her, Birdy drops into the seat she'd been sitting in earlier.

"But you're working on something, right?" Madge manages to ask.

She has to be planning something. She has to. Birdy is always planning, even when she shouldn't.

"I am," Birdy nods. "It's just going to take time."

Time they clearly don't have.

The only hope they have is to take the Capitol down, and the sooner the better.

"I only came out today to warn you. He needs to work on his temper and prepare his brothers for what his wandering penis has gotten them into."

"We're right here!"

Birdy cuts him a look. "I've noticed. And now you know. Although I'd rather've had your idiot brother be the one to break the news to you."

An unnerving quiet settles over the room, and Madge tries to keep the tears building in her eyes from spilling out.

This is her fault. She'd been careless, and now Vick and Rory will have the same fate as Finnick and Anton, Cashmere and Gloss.

Looking up, she sees Vick leaning into Gale, seeming smaller, younger.

Grinding her teeth, Madge swats at her eyes.

"We can't let that happen," she finally says. She won't.

"I'm trying," Birdy tells her, voice almost cracking. "But I'm all by myself in this and it's-it's not exactly easy."

Looking up, Madge blinks the tears from her eyes. "You won't be doing it by yourself anymore."

The Capitol has to fall, to protect the baby, to protect Gale, and to protect his family.

This is Madge's fault, and she won't let anyone else be hurt by her mistakes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: As always, many thanks to Nursekelly for the help.

Madge spends the next few weeks, leading up to the Reaping, trying to think her way out of the mess she's gotten everyone into.

"Don't take all the credit," Birdy had said. "Dorothy helped too."

No matter whose fault it was, Madge felt it was her responsibility to fix it.

Every conversation she's ever overhead, every shred of information she's gleaned, all the frivolous details she's been inadvertently given the privilege of knowing swirl in her head. Some of it has to be useful.

"I'll work on those codes Finnick got," Birdy told her before she left. "I think crippling the military is going to be vital. It's the best way to keep them from retaliating against the District."

And with that she'd vanished, back into the edges of Twelve and to her party planning.

"So she wants to take out the electrical grids?" Gale asks as Madge paces back and forth, wearing a hole in the floor of her bedroom.

Nodding, Madge chews her lip.

It had always seemed like such a reckless plan, dangerous. Now though, it seems like the only hope.

"We've got a year, at most, to plan it," she repeats, more to herself than him.

A year before the Capitol sinks its claws into Rory and Vick and drags them into hell.

Madge has already formed part of her plan. She'll use her friendships within the artistic society to gather information on Snow's movements. He considers himself cultured, above the common citizens that frequent places like Birdy's club and tangle themselves with Finnick Odair. He spends just enough time with them to get their money, set up connections for their 'meetings' with Victors, to keep them in his pocket. They're as much pieces in the Game as the Victors, killed off when they become a nuisance or stop serving their purpose.

The patrons of the arts though, he considers equals. Or at the least not his lessers.

Feeling fidgety, as if moving physically will get her closer to her goal, to protecting everyone, Madge gets up at all hours and walks despite Gale's protests.

"You need to rest," he tells her night after night. "It's not good for the baby."

So she crawls into bed and tries to sleep.

Not even Gale's body curled protectively around hers, his hand warm against her stomach, eases her into sleep.

They're doomed unless she can think her way out of this arena, and she only has a year to do it.

#######

Gale straightens Vick's collar and smiles.

"Not too bad, huh?"

Vick grimaces, his eyes dropping to his too short dress pants, inherited from Gale and Rory. He glances up, at his perfectly combed hair, battled into that state by their mom.

"I look stupid."

Chuckling, Gale glances at Rory, now embroiled in a battle of wills with their mom over his own hair. "It could be worse."

"Just let me comb it, Rory," she tells him, eyeing his hair critically.

"I already did," Rory grumbles, dodging the brush. He points to Gale. "It looks like Gale's. If you aren't messing up his why do I have to mess up mine?"

Pinching the bridge of her nose, their mom sighs and mutters to herself.

Vick stifles a snort of laughter as he and Gale turn away from the fight.

Posy is standing in front of the lone mirror in the house, inspecting her hair.

It's in twin braids down her back, she's begun idealizing Prim lately and had insisted on having her hair done like hers for the Reaping. Prim had also donated a few of her old dresses to her, the only thing keeping the youngest Hawthorne from dressing like a boy.

If it weren't for her big gray eyes and dark hair, she'd be a smaller version of Prim.

"I want candy after the Reaping," she suddenly tells Gale as she spins on her bare feet and races toward him. "Like you brought home the other day."

Gale catches her and scoops her up, grunting a little. She's going to be too big to carry soon.

"We'll see," tells her.

It would be easy to go get candy from Matilda, but that's not something he wants Posy to know.

Still, the Reaping is stressful for everyone. A little candy might be a nice treat after.

Finally, his mom gives up on Rory, tossing the brush onto the table.

"Fine," she sighs. Her eyes find the old clock, ticking a little louder than usual on the wall, and her face pinches up with worry. She exchanges an anxious look with Gale before forcing a brave face. "Let's go."

#######

The sun beats down on the Square as District Twelve's population settles in for the Reaping.

Madge feels herself sway under the steadily warming sun as she listens to her father reads the treaty. She should've drank more water. If she passes out during the Reaping it'll double their problems.

Closing her eyes, Madge tries to steady her breathing. This year's Reaping feels much more awful than years past. The knowledge that she's failing innocent people, children, has always haunted her. The fact that she'll she's going to be a parent soon seems to amplify that terrible sensation.

No wonder Mr. Abernathy drinks. No wonder he's never had children. The stress is too much to bear.

Something warm and rough wraps around her fingers, giving them a squeeze, and when Madge cuts her eyes down, she finds Mr. Abernathy's hand around hers. He's trying to lend her what strength he has, however little that may be at this point.

Mentally she scolds herself. She should be comforting him. He's had to weather this alone for decades, she's young, she should be stronger than this. That isn't how it is though.

She's weak and pregnant, more vulnerable than she'd ever imagined herself to be. She needs all the strength she can get, even if she doesn't deserve it.

Squeezing his hand, Madge forces a smile. She owes it to him to pretend.

Time seems to slow to a crawl as Ms. Trinket stands and begins her speech.

They're always awful, and time hasn't made Ms. Trinket more endeared to Madge. If anything, she likes her less.

She's shrill and thoughtless, even years spent in Madge's company haven't been able to hammer some consideration into her. The Games are still a delight to her and the Victors things, nothing will change that.

Finally, Ms. Trinket finishes her little speech, a long, pointless thing that Madge paid no attention to, and smiles cheerfully out at the crowd.

"Let's hope this year's young lady is as shiny a diamond as our little Magdalene," she tells them, apparently hoping to bolster them. It doesn't work, she only receives blank stares in response.

"Well then," she sniffs, her smile faltering for half a second before reappearing. "Happy Hunger Games!"

Her horribly pink nails dive into the bowl, raking around the bottom for several agonizing seconds before she pulls the unfortunate girl's name out.

Madge holds her breath.

Prim had taken out tesserae recently.

While Katniss had never ventured back to the Victors' Village, Prim had begun making the journey at least once every few weeks for the past two years. She'd told Madge about her tesserae when she'd come up to sell her cheese only a few weeks back.

"Katniss was furious," she'd said, biting her lip as she settled on Madge's back step. "She yelled at me. Katniss has never yelled at me. I just wanted to protect her, like she's always protected me. It's dangerous for her to go into the woods, and the fence is up so much now…I just don't want to see her get hurt. Can't she see that?"

Nodding, Madge had patted her back and told her to give her sister time. She loved Prim more than anything, she'd forgive her.

According to Gale though, Katniss was still fuming even just a few weeks ago.

"It was a stupid move," he'd snapped when Madge had tried to defend Prim. "She put herself at risk. Katniss never wanted her to take out tesserea. The less her name is in that bowl the better."

Madge hadn't pointed out that she had as few slips as anyone, and she'd still been Reaped. It wouldn't ease anyone's mind.

Now, as Ms. Trinket opens the small slip, those precious few with the name 'Primrose Everdeen' is all she Madge think about.

"Charity Shumard!"

A brief flicker of happiness flares in Madge's chest, only to be doused at the realization that she knows that name.

It's not Prim, but it is familiar.

It had been a very real possibility that someone she knew would be Reaped, Madge knew that, but the reality of it, seeing Chesney's youngest sister slowly walking through the parted crowd of thirteen year old girls, face pale and wide eyed, finally sets it in stone.

They weren't exactly friends. Chesney was a gossip, and more than once Madge had been the topic of her taunts and speculation. Still, she's a person, and the small dark haired girl slowly ascending the steps is her baby sister. Madge is going to have to try to save her one time classmate's sister, something she's failed to do the past three years.

No, she thinks bitterly. She's going to have to watch the scared little girl now standing only feet from her die. Winning would draw too much attention to Twelve, and that's not something she can risk at the moment. It settles like a stone in her stomach, bubbling up acid that burns her throat as she tries to swallow it down.

She isn't sure how she's going to live with herself.

In that moment she wants nothing more than to hide from all of this, go back to her too big house in the Village and curl up in her bed, wait for Gale to come and comfort her. Whisper little lies like 'it'll be okay' and 'I'll protect you' to her until she falls asleep.

That isn't a luxury she has though. She's bound for the Capitol to watch a slaughter, fail her Tribute, and try to plan how she's going to save her family, no way around it.

Her eyes search the crowd, finally settling on stormy eyes and messy dark hair, watching her worriedly.

His shirt is a little worn, one he'd inherited from his dad apparently. It suits him.

"My mom held onto a lot of his old stuff for me," he'd told Madge when she'd asked about his battered lunch pail. "None of it was worth anything anyways."

It was all heavily used, tattered and repaired, fairly obviously, in several places, but there's something about it that seems distinguished to Madge. Despite the wear, it's nice, and it only serves to make Gale look that much more handsome.

She wonders idly if Portia will be able to make him look half as handsome in Capitol finery as he does now. Probably not.

Somewhere in the crowd of girls someone screams, and Madge sees someone has fainted.

Holding Gale's gaze, Madge blocks out Ms. Trinket asking for volunteers. Only the lonely noise of a square full of silence, and finally Charity's worn looking shoes shuffling on the wood as she steps back, panic and confusion still etched on her young face, answer her.

"Oooh! So exciting!" Ms. Trinket squeals, stepping to the next bowl. "Gentlemen's turn!"

Her hand sinks into the bowl, clicking ominously against the glass as she digs for the 'lucky' boy before her smile widens and her hand reemerges with a slip clasped between her fingers.

Smile never dimming, she opens it up.

"Vick Hawthorne!"

For a moment the earth seems to stand still. Birds stop singing and bugs stop chirping, the wind stills, everyone in the square seem to be holding their breath. Madge's heart stops.

Blinking, Madge feels her body try to suck in a breath, fill her lungs, but it can't. She's frozen. A statue of flesh and bone, unmoving and helpless to stop the horror unfurling before her.

Vick. Vick Hawthorne. Surely it can't be the same boy. There must be more Vick Hawthornes in the Seam. Maybe it's a common name. It can't be her Vick.

He's only Twelve. Twelve year olds are so rarely picked that this has to be some kind of mistake.

Like Katniss, Gale has flat refused to let his brothers take out tesserea. He works his hands bloody, hunts in what little time he has, does everything he can to keep them from it. This can't happen after all he's done to prevent it…

It can't.

All the problems she's been wading through since she found out she was pregnant seem less monumental now. A year feels like a lifetime compared to the scant few weeks she's going to have to figure out how to save Vick.

The air seems to shudder around Madge's head, all the noise and heat rushing back at her, almost pushing what's left of the breath from her lungs. Reality whips around her, harsh and hot and painful.

"Vick?" Ms. Trinket calls out again. "Vick Hawthorne?"

For a fleeting moment Madge thinks maybe Vick has made a run for it, dashed out of the square for the woods. Gale will find him, make sure he's safe.

That's what's happened. Vick has run, she tells herself.

A second later though, Vick appears through the crush of twelve year old boys.

His dark hair has been carefully combed, probably by his mother, and his shirt is pressed and clean, a state Madge has seen him in so rarely that she almost doesn't recognize him. His pants are a little short, probably washed and worn by both Gale and Rory, shrinking them up just slightly.

He looks so small, so very, impossibly young….

For a second Madge considers grabbing the microphone and using it to swing at everyone near, fighting her way off the stage, grabbing Vick, making a run for it.

He's Gale's brother, and that makes him hers as well. She has to protect him.

The mad thought evaporates almost as soon as it forms. She'd fail, get herself and the baby, Vick, and probably more, killed.

There's no saving Vick that way.

Instantly her mind starts seeking out a solution. There has to be a way around this.

She'll make Birdy help. If anyone knows how to manipulate a situation, it's her. They'll have to come up with a story, something to catch the Capitol's attention, make Vick the son they all want. They have to make him irreplaceable, lovable, perfect.

Vick is all those things and more already, they'll just need to amplify him.

While her mind is reeling, building a Vick the Capitol won't be able to part with, a fight breaks out in the crowd.

At first she's certain it's Gale, and she feels panic start to build in her chest. He's going to be killed.

Eyes darting, Madge finds him, still standing at the front of the ropes, holding his mother and Posy. His eyes are angry and hard, his expression cold fury. The Capitol has taken so much from him already, and now it's taking his baby brother and all he can do is comfort his sobbing mother and frightened sister.

Searching the fray, Madge finds another boy with dark hair, struggling against Peacekeepers.

"Vick!" Rory shouts his face twisted in panic. "Vick!"

Vick, stiff and terrified, turns and looks back.

They both look so small, so much like the little boys they are, and Madge almost lets the tears that had started building in her eyes when Vick's name was called fall.

The façade stays in place though. She's unfeeling and cold, a pretty picture for the cameras to focus on amid the ugliness of her home District and nothing more. Letting them see through her mask would give them something over her, and that can't happen. Not now, not when she needs the illusion more than ever.

Though, she thinks bitterly as her eyes stay focused on Vick and Rory, maybe they already have.

For a second the two boys stare at each other, Rory trying to shake off the Peacekeepers holding him back, and Vick being gently pushed toward the stage by the one at his side.

Something seems to snap in Rory, shatter into a million pieces, as he stares at his little brother, his shadow, his best friend.

"I volunteer!" He finally yells, voice breaking, pushing a Peacekeeper away. "I volunteer for him!"

Vick instantly starts shaking his head, backing away and toward the stage. Madge almost thinks she hears him say no, but she isn't sure.

"Young man you can't volunteer yet!" Ms. Trinket scolds him over the loud speaker. "There is a protocol to be followed!"

Rory doesn't care though, squirming away from the Peacekeepers and running straight at Vick.

He catches him, locks him into a fierce hug, clearly telling him something before pushing Vick back toward the Peacekeeper and running for the stage.

Before anyone can stop him, he's up the steps, huffing, eyes red rimmed and filled with tears. "I volunteer! I volunteer! I volunteer!"

Ms. Trinket starts to chastise him again, blubbering on about protocol and rules, but Madge's father gently stops her.

"What does it matter?" He says warily, eyes flickering from Rory to Madge. "Let the boy be."

He's looking far too old. His hair has thinned to the point of being almost completely bald and his face has new worry lines almost daily.

Giving Rory a pat on the shoulder, he smiles weakly at him, then, almost absently, at Madge.

I'm sorry, Pearl, he seems to say.

Madge can't even force herself to nod an acknowledgment for him, all her attention is on Rory.

His shoe is untied as he shakes Charity's hand, the bottom of his shirt has a stain on it, probably from wiping his sweaty, dirty hands on it, and his dark hair is glistening as he stares out, defiant, at the crowd, at the Capitol.

Rory is far braver than Madge had ever imagined.

When they usher them off the stage and to the Justice Building, Madge wants nothing more than to go to Gale, assure him that she'll move heaven and earth to get Rory back to him, but she can't. It isn't allowed.

"They'll know you're gonna do your best," Mr. Abernathy assures her. "We're gonna do everything to get him back."

Madge just nods absently, still grasping around at the edges of her mind for a way to save Rory.

Closing her eyes, she can picture Rory being interviewed, smiling and laughing, using his peculiar humor to win over the crowd. They'll love him, and that terrifies her more than it comforts her.

Her stomach jolts. The Rory she pictures on the stage looks entirely too much like Gale, and she realizes, that's because he resembles his brother a little more than she's ever noticed. He's handsome, if young and a little gangly.

Fourteen years old, the same age Finnick Odair had been when he'd won his Game.

The thought unsettles her.

She doesn't want to save Rory just to toss him to the hungry hands and wallets of the Capitol.

That's what would happen though. He isn't like her. Good looks are a curse to Victors, and there's no way to downplay what will clearly be Rory's winning trait.

Heart pounding so hard in her chest she's certain it's going to bang out of her chest, Madge closes her eyes again and crosses her arms over her middle as Mr. Abernathy guides her through the Justice Building and tries to focus.

She's going to save Rory. She has to.

#######

Gale is nearly knocked over by Vick as he barrels into him, tears dripping off his face and his nose running.

"Gale-I tried to s-s-stop him," he sputters, sobbing into Gale's chest.

Wrapping his arms around his shoulders, Gale tries to comfort him, tell him it'll be okay, but the words catch in his throat. He doesn't know if it'll be okay. This is a curve they hadn't even considered, couldn't have anticipated.

They should've though.

Things had been going too smoothly with the pregnancy, they were do a true catastrophe, one they couldn't plan for.

His mom comes up beside him, dragging a sobbing Posy behind her.

"Vick," she whispers, pulling him from Gale and into her arms. She smoothes his hair and shushes him. "Hush."

Posy, one of her braids undone and hair blowing gently in the warm breeze, looks up at Gale, face shining with tears, snot dangling from her nose.

"Rory's gonna be okay, right, Gale?"

Much as he wants to tell her Rory will be back in the blink of an eye, he can't. His voice has died.

He wants to believe Madge will get Rory home, but he doesn't. If she had some power to get Tributes home he knows she'd have already used it. Her heart's too soft to have let people die the last few years if she had that power.

She'll do her best, but the reality is, Rory's chances are no better than any other Tributes.

Suddenly Gale wishes he'd have taken Rory into the woods a little more often, taught him more snares, done more practice with the bow. There are so many things he should've taught him, and it's too late now.

There'd always been time, that's what Gale had thought anyways.

Now there's no time.

Rory, noisy, obnoxious, perverted Rory, is about to be taken to the Capitol, far outside Gale's protection.

"We need to get to the Justice Building," Gale tells them, his voice distant to his ears.

Posy latches onto his hand as he winds through the crowd of somber looks being cast their way.

When they reach the steps to the Justice Building Vick takes off, racing ahead of them, only to be stopped by a Peacekeeper.

"I have to get in to see my brother," he tries to explain, his voice frantic. "Please!"

For a moment Gale thinks the Peacekeeper might deny them a precious few minutes with Rory just for his own amusement, but then a mellow voice intervenes.

"Let them in, Clay," the Mayor tells him.

Vick doesn't wait for the Peacekeeper to acknowledge the order, just rushes past him and into the room.

Their mom takes Posy's hand from Gale and quickly follows him, leaving Gale staring at Madge's dad.

For a second Gale thinks he's going to give him some words of comfort, he's been in this position before after all. Instead, his tired face forces into a small, sad smile.

"Hurry up, son. They don't give you much time."

Barely nodding, Gale brushes past the Peacekeeper and into the room.

His mom has Rory in a tight hug already, sniffling and combing his hair with her finger, while Posy is crying into his side.

"Don't go, Rory," she blubbers, wiping her nose on his shirt.

Time seems to stand still as Gale stares at them.

Rory looks too young, he is too young, to be taken away. His hair is a mess and his shirt is untucked. He might've just come from school if Gale didn't know any better.

He's just a little boy, and they're going to kill him.

Pulling back from their mom, Rory kisses her cheek and forces a smile, glancing down at the grubby stain on it where he'd rubbed the seat from his hands.

"Hey, at least you won't have to clean this mess."

She tries to smile, but instead only forces more tears out of her eyes.

Hand shaking, he reaches out and wipes them from her face.

"It'll be okay." He gives her a lopsided grin and glances upward at his hair. "Maybe they'll get my hair to behave for the cameras at least."

Vick flings himself at him, wiping his eyes on Rory's shoulder. "Just shut up, and promise you'll come home." He doesn't look at him as he adds a weak, hopeless, "Please?"

Rory doesn't say anything, just hugs him back.

It doesn't feel like even a minute has passed before the door opens and the Peacekeeper is telling them their time is up.

"I love you, baby," their mom tells him, pressing one final kiss into his hair. "You'll always be my baby, no matter what."

Posy begins screaming, begging Rory to come home.

"Please, Rory, Please!" She sobs as their mom drags her out. "I love you! Please come home!"

Vick just shakes, his eyes half swollen shut from crying, as he follows them out.

For a moment Gale just stares dumbly at his brother, unable to form a single sentence.

I love you. I'll miss you. Fight.

Nothing comes out.

Then his body moves of its own accord and he finds himself pulling Rory into a hug.

"You come home, okay?"

And for the first time since Vick's name is called, it seems like a possibility.

If anyone is stubborn enough to make it out of the Games alive, it's Rory.

"I'm scared."

Pulling back, Gale takes Rory by the shoulders.

"Be brave. Listen. Do what you're told."

Because even if she hasn't gotten a Tribute back yet, Gale knows Madge will move heaven and earth to get Rory home. He's as good as a brother to her.

She's smart. She'll think her way out of this, he knows she will.

Red-rimmed eyes lock with his, and Rory nods.

"I love you, you pain in the ass."

A little grin forms on Rory's mouth.

"Love you too, you big jerk."

Then hands are on Gale's shoulders, pulling him away from his brave little brother as he struggles to hold on to him.

With one last sad smile, the door closes between them, and Rory is gone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: Just to clarify things, there are 4 Shumard sisters, Chenille, Chesney, Chastity, and Charity. It's kind of a tribute to someone I used to know who had several siblings, but I didn't realize it for years because their parents gave them all such similar names that I just missed how many of them there actually were until I met them.
> 
> As always, thanks to Nursekelly for the help.

Madge isn't sure how she got on the train.

One minute she was gliding through the Justice Building, catching a glance of her father's grim expression, and the next countryside was slipping past, taking her further from home.

"It's gonna be okay, Pearl," she vaguely hears Mr. Abernathy try to comfort her, feeling his rough hand on her shoulder. "We're gonna figure this out."

The words have no more than passed his lips when Madge feels her knees give out and all the tears she'd managed to keep in check begin to spill out.

She doesn't hit the floor; Mr. Abernathy catches her around the middle and gently eases her down, wrapping her in his arms and trying his best to soothe her.

The sobs only get more painful as he combs her hair and whispers comforting lies to her.

It won't be okay, they won't figure this out, it's all a mess and there's no fixing it.

Hours seem to pass them by, though when Madge finally calms enough to pull back and wipe the tears from her face, only half an hour has gone by.

They stay on the floor, Mr. Abernathy occasionally brushing hair from her face, smearing tears across her cheeks, and Madge staring at the pattern on the rug.

It's hideous, hundreds of pale circles scattered on a black background. It was designed by a particularly popular decorator though, and that's all that matters to the Capitol. It's worth something to someone, it's connected to someone who, whether he deserves it or not, is famous. That gives it worth, it's only worth.

She closes her eyes. She has to think her way out of this. She has to.

Opening them, a few tears slide down her cheek, dangle on her jaw for a breath before falling and adding to the splattered pattern on her pale blue dress.

Looking at the rug again, her mind tries to wake from the nightmare it's trapped in. It can't though, she doubts it ever will.

Reaching a shaking hand out, she takes Mr. Abernathy's hand and gives it a squeeze. She's going to need him every step of the way, no matter what.

#######

Gale feels diseased.

The entire way home people had been looking at them like they were dying, like they were already dead.

Whispers followed them, sad glances, but no kind words or hollow comforts come their way. It's almost like people are afraid they'll catch some incurable illness if they speak to them.

Anger boils Gale's blood, and instead of keeping his eyes down, letting them let him pass like a ghost, he glares at all of them, daring them to ignore him. Ignore Rory.

He knows it's just a knee-jerk response, and he knows he's guilty of acting the way they are in the past.

Let the family be alone in their grief, lick their wounds, and tomorrow offer them condolences.

Condolences, not hope. There is no hope in their minds.

There is though.

Madge will find a way to get Rory home, he knows she will.

He just wishes he knew how.

When they get in their house it's too quiet. There's no laughter, no roughhousing, no shouting or dirty jokes, just an eerie silence. Rory's last laugh has long since faded from the air, leaving only an awful kind of emptiness in its place.

Gale watches his mom slump onto the couch, her eyes shining and her body shaking for a moment before a sob breaks free and she crumples over, burying her face in her hands.

Vick rushes to her, wrapping his arms around her and crying silently on her shoulder as he whispers, "I'm sorry."

Sitting up, face wet with tears, his mom forces a watery smile and smoothes Vick's hair back. "Don't be sorry, sweet pea."

"It's my fault though!" Vick sputters. "I should be gone, not Rory!"

She shakes her head and presses a kiss to his forehead. "No, Vick. That's not true."

Pulling Vick into a tight hug, she continues to console him as he cries harder and harder.

Suddenly, Gale wishes he'd taken his family and run years ago. They could've made it in the woods, Gale would've made sure they did. Rory and Vick would've been safe that way. Madge and the baby would be safe that way.

He hadn't though, and the worst has happened.

His hands ball into fists and he has the irrational, burning desire to go find the first Peacekeeper he can and beat them to a bloody pulp. They're part of the problem, one of the monsters that took Rory, and they deserve every bruise and cut Gale can give them.

Then Gale feels something wrap around his middle, forcing his mind away from his revenge and back into his family's too quiet house.

Looking down, he finds Posy at his waist.

She looks up, wiping her snotty nose on the back of her hand, her chin quivering, and Gale feels all his rage melt into resignation.

She's the reason he'd never run off. Posy and the boys and his mom. They couldn't have made it in the woods, no matter what Gale's wildest dreams would have him believe. They'd have been tracked down and executed, and that was the kindest possibility.

It's the same reason he has to keep his temper and his actions in check. It isn't just his life in his hands.

Even with Rory being gone, Gale still has two other siblings to protect and his mom. He can't let them down for a moment of satisfaction. Rory wouldn't want him to put them at risk.

"Gale," Posy begins, her tiny voice breaking, "Rory's gonna come home isn't he? Rory won't die, he can't, can he?"

Looking over at his mom and Vick, still crying silently on the broken down couch, Gale knows he should be realistic with her. He's known since their dad died that no one is safe. Life can be snuffed out in a breath, and a lot of times it is.

There's no guarantee Rory will come home. No guarantee he won't be murdered on their television in a few weeks.

Rory is stubborn though, and Madge is smart, even if it's stupid, Gale wants to believe his little brother is going to come home.

He does believe his brother is going to come home.

Squatting down, Gale brushes the loose dark strands from Posy's face and smiles.

"Rory'll be home in no time," he promises her.

#######

Madge twists her fingers together as she follows Mr. Abernathy down the sunshine gold speckled hall that leads to the dining area of the train.

Rory is sitting at the mahogany table, picking at a pineapple slice and talking in low tones to Charity.

She looks very small, especially next to Rory, who looks more like a full grown man than he ever has. The little bun her hair is pulled back into is coming loose and now that Madge is looking at her properly, her dress is at least two sizes too big, though it's been taken in inexpertly.

Charity is just a little girl, and Madge is going to sacrifice her to save the boy that's become as close as a brother to her.

Shaking the thought away, Madge drops into the seat beside Mr. Abernathy and gives them both a tight smile.

"Hello."

Charity looks a little ill, but forces a smile and mumbles a greeting while Rory just flashes her a weak smile.

He watches Madge for a moment, his expression unreadable, before taking another bite of pineapple. He's plotting something, and Madge just wishes she knew what.

The year of the Quell the two Tributes had been older and hadn't needed, or really wanted, much guidance. They knew they were speeding toward death, and they'd only wanted to enjoy the luxuries of the Capitol before they met their end.

Last year the Tributes almost completely ignored Madge. They'd eaten everything in sight and brushed off every attempt Madge made to offer them help.

"Know a lost cause when it throws fruit at you, Pearl," Mr. Abernathy had simply told her as she'd cried over her inability to connect with them.

They'd died only minutes into the Games. Madge still sees their faces in her nightmares some nights.

Rory is different than those ghosts. He's still flesh and blood and spirit, and she can still save him.

Charity…Charity is simply another child lost to the Games. Tinder for the fire of hatred and cruelty that is the Games.

Madge's stomach turns over at the thought. She's playing the game just like they want her to, picking her piece just like Mr. Abernathy had done with her during her Games and sacrificing an innocent child.

She's as much a monster as the people of the Capitol, even if her reasons aren't as twisted as theirs.

Smile faltering, Madge takes a deep breath and finds a thread of thought that doesn't lead her back to what a vile person she's going to have to be if she wants to save Rory.

"Uh, well, I guess we should make introductions and decide who is going to be whose Mentor," she begins, feeling a little lame and dull witted.

"Haymitch," Rory says instantly. "I'm with Haymitch."

Madge is too stunned to say anything as Charity nods her fervent agreement.

Rory gives Madge a hard look, one so reminiscent of Gale Madge has to blink to make sure he hasn't materialized in the train in front of her. He's playing at something, just like he always is, but he's playing against her, and she can't allow that.

"Fine by me," Mr. Abernathy mutters, avoiding looking at anyone, pouring a glass of water and pushing it toward Madge.

They continue to eat, now in a thick silence, punctuated only by Mr. Abernathy slurping his drink or cracking ice between his teeth.

When the food is whittled down to rinds and wrappers, empty cups and dirty napkins, Rory stands and twists in place, his back cracking loudly.

"I'll be back, gotta pee," he tells Charity, giving her a comforting grin and a tugging one of the loose whisks of her hair, earning a little smile from her.

Waiting a moment, until Rory has vanished down the hall, Madge stands and grimaces as the train's motion nearly throws off her balance. "I need to too."

It isn't a lie, actually. She has too pee constantly. It's a fun side effect of pregnancy she'd never been told about.

Following the path Rory had taken, Madge listens at doors until she hears running water.

Sliding the door open, Madge steps in and finds Rory wiping his hands on one of the delicate towels from the bathroom. When he sees Madge, he smiles faintly and tosses the towel back into the bathroom.

"Sorry," he shrugs, "I just picked a room."

Madge just stares at him, willing herself not to cry. She can't dissolve into a blubbering mess every time she sees him, it won't do them any good.

Reaching up, she rubs hers fingers over the little diamond necklace she wears to the Capitol. When it warms under her touch, she knows the room is safe to talk in.

"Rory.."

She isn't sure what she wants to say. I'm sorry? I'm going to save you? It's going to be okay?

None of the words will come out though. They're all trapped somewhere between her mind and her mouth.

"Haymitch scares her," Rory suddenly says. When Madge only responds with a confused frown, he jerks his head toward the dining car. "Charity. Haymitch is kinda an asshole. I can handle him, but…Charity is scared of him."

Madge nods, then shakes her head.

"I know, but Rory, I have to be your Mentor. During the Games only your official Mentor can make deals on your behalf."

"Then make them for Charity-"

"No, Rory," Madge shakes her head. "Do you know the odds for a thirteen year old? They're not good. But you-"

"I'm not gonna sit back and let her get tossed to the wolves to save my own skin," Rory growls, eyes shining. "You're smart, Madge, you can save her if you really try."

Shaking her head again, Madge feels her chest tighten. This is going all wrong. "I-Rory, I have to save you!"

He's family and she loves him. She can't let him die

"I don't need saving," he tells her, stepping forward and giving her a small, sad smile. "I'm a big boy, but Charity, she's just a little kid."

Madge almost snaps that Rory is just a little kid too, but the argument falls flat.

Standing in front of her, she realizes for the first time that he's taller than her. Not as tall as Gale, but he might yet be. There isn't childish peach fuzz on his face, but genuine stubble. He'd have a beard if he didn't shave.

His birthday is only a month off, she thinks duly. He'll be fifteen, a full year older than Gale had been when their father died.

Rory, who had just volunteered to save his baby brother, is hardly a little kid.

He's more a man than all the men in the Capitol, and Madge should've known he wouldn't let her put his life ahead of an innocent child. He'd offered up his life to keep Vick, who is as innocent as anyone, out of the Games after all.

Chewing her lip, Madge nods, a few tears slipping out and down her cheeks.

Rory is a big brother, and just because he's not near his siblings doesn't mean he's going to stop acting the part.

Breath shuddering in her chest, Madge pulls Rory into a tight hug.

"You're a good man, Rory."

He chuckles and Madge feels a damp spot form in her hair where Rory's cheek is resting against her head.

His voice cracks, "I'm a dead man."

Closing her eyes, Madge holds her tongue.

He isn't dead yet, and if the only way he'll let her save him is by saving Charity too, then that's what Madge will do.

She'll find a way.

She has to.

#######

Gale holds his mom's hand as they watch the recap of the Reapings.

The kids from One and Two, if they even qualify as kids, are volunteers. They glare around, cold smiles for the camera, certainty that they'll win etched in every feature of their faces.

He hates them already.

Rory could take them in a fair fight, Gale is sure if it. He's a tough kid.

It wouldn't be a fair fight though, and Rory's never been much of a physical fighter, at least not with anyone who wasn't Gale or Vick.

No, Rory's a schemer. A plotter. And Gale can only hope that serves him well.

He'll play well with the cameras. Rory is a ham and that's bound to get him sponsors. They'll eat him up. They'll save his life.

Then…

Gale shakes the thought away. He can't worry about the after yet. Rory just has to get home first.

"She's pretty," Posy says, pointing to the television, at the fifteen year old girl in a ragged emerald dress stumbling up to the podium in Ten. "Isn't she pretty, Vick?"

A pretty girl has always perked her brothers up, and Posy looks hopeful that a small bit of normalcy might find its way into the evening.

Vick just glances, dull eyed and grim, to the television and shrugs before burrowing back into their mom's side.

Looking crestfallen, Posy settles back onto Gale's lap and sighs.

It's a different world without Rory at home and she doesn't seem to like it.

Finally, Twelve's Reaping comes on.

"Such an exciting Reaping!" Templesmith shouts.

Flickerman laughs loudly, obnoxiously. "A real treat it was!" He wags a finger. "But we won't spoil it!"

They cut to the footage of Twelve, which looks washed out and pitiful compared to the images of the Capitol that had been up just moments before, behind Flickerman and Templesmith.

Effie Trinket twitters and trills, her god awful makeup looking worse through the camera lens than it had in real life, making her shitty joke and then reaching for the bowl.

Charity Shumard gets called first.

She looks tiny, dwarfed in one of her sisters' hand-me-down dresses. She almost trips on her too big shoes going up the steps to the stage.

They cut out Chastity fainting, scaring the poor girl next to her in the fifteen year old section, opting to go straight to the boys' Reaping.

It seems to move in slow motion.

Vick's name being called, him slowly stepping out from the twelve year olds, then Rory racing up.

Even on their crappy television Gale can see every detail of Rory's face.

Desperate, terrified, determined.

Gale almost laughs at how easily Rory pushes the Peacekeepers off. He's strong, all his scuffles with Vick he's clearly been holding back.

He's also tall. Gale hadn't paid it much attention, but Rory is taller than both Peacekeepers. He'll be as tall as Gale one day.

Throat constricting, Gale fights down tears.

Rory will be as tall as him someday. He's going to get that chance. Madge will make sure of it.

The Rory on the television breaks free from the Peacekeepers and grabs Vick, then in the blink of an eye he's on the stage.

"Absolutely fantastic!" Templesmith cheers. "A Volunteer from one of the outer Districts is a guarantee for a real show."

"I can't wait to talk to that young man," Flickerman chortles. "Such spirit!"

Gale's stomach rolls.

He doesn't want to hear anyone from the Capitol fawning over Rory, even if it's going to be the thing that saves him.

They discuss the newest batch of Tributes for another half hour before cutting to some stupid game show and Gale clicks the television off.

His mom has fallen asleep, her face still tight with worry, head slumped on Gale's shoulder.

Vick is snoring softly, cheeks tear stained, and Posy has stretched out, her head on one of the worn throw pillows and her feet jammed in Gale's ribs.

He should wake them up and make them all go to bed, but Gale doesn't really want to crawl into his rock hard bed in his too quiet room. It'll be impossible to sleep without Rory's snoring.

Gale needs the warmth of his family, the comfort of having them around him, if he wants to get any kind of rest tonight.

Scooting a little lower on the couch, Gale tries to relax into the broken down cushions and wills himself to sleep.

#######

Madge keeps her eyes on the screen throughout the recap of the Reapings, but she doesn't see a single thing. Her mind is too busy trying to find a way to save both Rory and Charity.

Mr. Abernathy swirls his drink in his hand, and shoots her a curious look, but doesn't speak.

Rory's already made a splash by volunteering, but that hardly helps Charity...

She shakes her head. That doesn't matter, she needs to save them both.

But how?

Her head starts to swim and her vision blurs, distorting the image on the television, and Madge presses her fingers to her temples.

She doesn't miss the anxious glances Mr. Abernathy shoots her way, or the concerned crease that's formed between Rory's eyes. They're worried about all the stress on the baby, she knows that, but they shouldn't be. It's fine, Madge can even feel it jumping on her bladder agai-

The headache that had been building behind her eyes instantly dissolves and Madge sits up a little straighter, her hands itching to press to her middle and reassure the baby it's all going to be alright.

It seems so simple now. Dangerous and more than a little foolish, but effective. Perfect.

If the plan forming in the fractured pieces of her mind works, all her worries will be at an end.

It'll take planning, and she only has the weeks leading up to the Games, but it's the only way.

She's finally thought her way out of this, and out of every Hunger Games to come.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: Thanks to Nursekelly for all the help.

Madge spends the rest of the trip to the Capitol spinning her plan.

"You can't seriously-sweetheart, this is a terrible plan!" Mr. Abernathy tells her after she tells him. "Snow'll have your neck."

Ignoring him, Madge continues to sift through her memories, all the times Birdy had tried to give her information and she'd shut her down.

The Victors from Five know how to destroy the main power station, Birdy mentioned it once, and Mr. Latier has to know how to crash the communications connecting the Districts and the Capitol, Three built the system after all. It would cut the Peacekeepers off from their orders, keep them in the dark when the Capitol falls.

Birdy has passcodes for the military bases, which could keep the Capitol from retaliating against the Districts when the fight begins and they realize they can't reach their loyal troops.

Then there was the matter of finding the location of the newest Arena, a closely guarded secret.

After all that, there was still the monumental problem of actually taking out Snow and overthrowing his government.

It will all take time, the one thing Madge doesn't have, not if she wants to save Rory.

What she does have though, is a perfect distraction. A juicy story of love and secrecy that she can use to distract the Capitol citizens, and Snow, while everyone else is setting up the pieces in the game, preparing them to come toppling down when they so decide.

"It's the best way." Madge doesn't look at him, just keeps her arms a wrapped around her pillow, pretending it's Gale. "They'll be so busy ooo-ing and awe-ing over me and the baby that no one else will matter. Birdy and the others will be able to get everything ready."

It's not ideal, but it's the best she can do. Draw all the attention onto herself to give the others space to work.

The fact that the father of her child is also the brother of a current Tribute just adds another layer of misery to the tale. It's a tragedy in the making without Capitol intervention and that will keep all their focus solely on Madge.

"And when all this planning blows up in your face, what then Pearl?" He asks, running a hand over his face and closing his bloodshot eyes. "The others'll get executed, if they're lucky, but you'll be stuck. They'll have you walking such a fine line you won't be able to find shoes narrow enough to walk it."

Madge stares at him, uncertainty creeping into her soul.

As quickly as it forms she's shakes it off.

She knows this is dangerous, but she doesn't see any other options. There just isn't any time.

Rory is too close to the right age to be tossed to the hungry mouths of the Capitol and she can't risk him being broken the same way so many others have been.

Besides, this is just...moving up the time table a bit.

To save the baby they'd have to destroy the system that's been created to keep them in line. They're just doing it sooner. Much sooner.

Mr. Abernathy cups her face in his hands and presses a scratchy kiss to it. "Please, I can't lose you."

Madge feels her heart break for him.

She's the only thing in this world that he's got a connection to, and the thought of having her ripped away might destroy him.

Scooting closer, Madge wraps her arms around him and kisses his cheek.

"This is the only way to save me." Tears begin trickling down her cheeks and she smears them as she tries to wipe them away. "You know what'll happen to Rory. You know the same thing'll happen to the baby too. We thought we'd have time to save it but we don't. Rory is family, and I can't-I can't let this happen." She takes his hand and sets it in her lap, keeping her eyes focused on the rough ridges in his palms. "Mr. Abernathy, I know you're scared, I am too, but Rory said-he said he couldn't let me throw Charity to the wolves for him, he wouldn't let me, and he's right."

Because that's all they've been doing for seventy-seven years. Sacrificing children, playing by the Capitol's rules, to save themselves and their families. All at the cost of innocent others.

"This is the right thing to do."

The thing they should've done years ago, decades even.

They've got to take down the Capitol.

#######

Madge gives Charity a weak smile as she sits across from her for breakfast.

Until they get to the Capitol and she can finish building her plan, she has to pretend to be playing by the rules.

She's made Mr. Abernathy swear not to so much as hint to Rory what she's planning. He'd try to talk her out of it and she doesn't have the time or the energy to argue with him at the moment.

"So," she begins hesitantly, "Charity, do you have any skills?"

Charity gnaws at her lip for a minute, eyes downcast, before glancing up and blinking away tears, shaking her head. "No, ma'am."

Forcing her face to stay in its pained smile, Madge nods.

"Okay, well, I'm sure that's not true. Sometimes you have skills you don't realize might be useful."

If anyone knew that, it was Madge. She'd had no useful skills whatsoever, and yet she's still alive.

Rather than being comforted, Charity's eyes overfill and fat teardrops begin cascading down her cheek, splashing messily down her front. She's still in her Reaping day dress, maybe hoping by not taking it off she could stay safe in an unchanging moment. Or maybe she'd simply been too exhausted to find something else.

"Charity…" Madge gets up and goes to the little girl's side.

Despite being so often in tears, Madge isn't quite sure how to deal with someone crying. It's an awkward, confusing situation.

Dropping down on the couch beside her, Madge pats her on the hand and grimaces.

It's a weak, pathetic gesture.

It seems to help Charity though, she straightens up and sniffles, looks at Madge through swollen eyelids.

"I don't wanna die," she whispers, her voice thick and slurred.

Tears begin swelling in Madge's eyes and something in her chest stings.

"I won't let you."

It's probably a lie. In all likelihood Charity and Rory will be killed and all of Madge's friends will end up executed for their trouble. Madge is trying though, even if it's a futile effort, and she hopes intent counts for something on a cosmic level.

#######

"What're you planning?" Rory asks after dinner, coming to Madge's room.

He's at least changed from his Reaping day clothes, taken a shower and apparently fiddled around with the fancy array of combs and gels to style his hair. It looks awful, but Madge manages not to laugh at his attempt.

"On helping Charity," she answers, hoping Rory hasn't learned to read through her poker face. "Like you told me to."

It's not exactly a lie, she will be helping Charity.

He rolls his eyes and steps past her, slouching as he stuffs his hands into his pockets.

"Are you really?"

"Yes."

He scrutinizes her for a moment, not looking convinced, then sighs.

"Don't do anything stupid, Madge. You're-you've got more than just yourself to look out for now."

His eyes hover at her middle, not so well concealed in her nightgown, before he grins.

"Gale'll never let me hear the end of it if something happens to you two because of me. He'll stand at my grave and glare and make those weird noises he makes when he's too mad to talk." He sighs dramatically. "I don't want to spend my eternity listening to him grumble."

"That's not funny Rory." Not funny at all.

"I wasn't trying to be."

Madge covers her face and slumps onto her bed, uncertain if she should laugh or cry.

The bed dips and she feels Rory's hand on her shoulder.

"You've been a good friend to me, Madge, and you've been a good girlfriend to Gale. He hasn't acted like he's got a stick up his ass as much as he used to since he's been with you. I don't want you to do something stupid in my account." He grins. "Plus, I don't want something happening to little 'Rory'. He's my legacy."

Madge snorts into her hands before peeking out at him.

"You're legacy?"

He nods loftily. "He's got half my genes. I can only hope it's a he half that make me an irresistible charmer and not the half that make Gale a walking carpet."

Shaking her head, Madge decides now is not the time to explain genetics to him, just leans over and pulls him into a hug.

#######

Madge doesn't wonder at the gleaming buildings of the Capitol as they slide into view. She doesn't point out landmarks for her Tributes, an act that had been met with rolled eyes and dirty looks the year before.

Instead, the moment the train stops in the station she turns to both Rory and Charity and gives them a bracing smile.

"Listen to your stylist. Let the prep team do what they need to." She gives Rory a pointed look. "No flirting."

Elvira and Cistel are actually decent stylist, from what Madge has seen the past two years, but Rory's good looks and sharp personality is bound to distract them. Something they didn't need.

Rory opens his mouth to argue, but Mr. Abernathy crosses his arms and glares, killing the fight.

Charity pales a little and edges sideways behind Rory, keeping him between herself and Mr. Abernathy as the door opens and they step out.

Twelve's victory in the Seventy-Fourth Games had earned them more attention. People considered them more scrappy underdogs as opposed to a misery to be ignored, which meant more face time, more pictures and film.

Cameras flash and garishly dressed reporters shout questions at them as they follow their Peacekeeper escorts into the Transformation Building.

Charity buries her face in her hands, Madge half thinks she might've burst into tears, but when they finally step through the doors and into the cool darkness of the newly renovated building, Charity's face is dry, though her cheeks are pink.

Someone squeals delightedly, and when Madge looks up, she finds Elvira clapping her hands as she eyes her newest Tributes.

Elvira, who looks a bit like an overgrown canary in her yellow feathered dress and enormously plumed headdress, rushes forward, pushes Mr. Abernathy out of the way, and grabs Rory by the front of his shirt.

"When I saw him I just had to have him. He's absolutely delicious. I wanted to call dibs before Cistel got her hands on him." She gives Charity a disdainful glance. "Let her work with this. Pretty face, but my god, no figure at all."

Charity's face deepens in color and her eyes drop to her feet.

"She only just turned thirteen," Rory snaps, his eyebrows furrowed together darkly. "She looks thirteen. What's wrong with that?"

Madge wants to tell him, and poor Charity, who looks close to tears, that there's nothing wrong with it. Charity looks normal, it's all the girls in the Capitol that have surgery and modifications pushed in them that don't look right. She doesn't get a chance to though, Elvira's laugh cuts her off.

"What excuse is that?" She pushes out her chest, bust line comically too large for her thin frame. "I got my first set when I was twelve. If you Districts took some pride in your appearance maybe you'd do better in life."

None of them are able to counter her all encompassing stupidity. They just stare at her, mouths hanging open in wonder at how one person could possibly be so dense.

Mr. Abernathy finally breaks the silence.

"Yeah, pride, that's what we need," he huffs.

Elvira eyes Charity again.

"You know, I bet we could get a quickie surger-"

"I hear one word about you trying to add boobs to the kid and I'll cut yours off," Mr. Abernathy growls, pulling his knife from his belt and waving it under her nose.

Stepping back and pressing her hands protectively to her chest, Elvira sniffs.

"Fine." Her surgically smoothed expression pinches up. "Last time I try to help."

She stalks off, her head still held high, feathers flopping in her wake.

They wait for her to vanish around a corner before Mr. Abernathy drops his glare and looks at Charity.

"They try to do anything more that put makeup on you, then you kick 'em where it counts, got it?"

Instead of so much as nodding, Charity just stares at him, eyes wide with horror, maybe at what might await her with her prep team, or maybe just at the fact that Mr. Abernathy is speaking to her.

He doesn't seem to notice, just grumbles some more before glancing around.

Wrapping an arm around Madge's shoulder, he steers her away from their Tributes. "I'm gonna go meet up with an old friend." He kisses her forehead. "Be back in a bit."

And without a backwards glance he's gone.

Madge feels her stomach somersault. She gets the feeling he's going to meet with someone that will be able to help with her plan, and she wishes she could go too, but she has other things to deal with. Delegation is going to be her ally, she's going to have to let others help her while she's got the spotlight on her. Might as well start now.

Crossing back to Rory and Charity, Madge gives them one last brave smile.

"I'll see you in a few hours."

They're whisked away a few minutes later, not even allowed a goodbye.

As soon as they're out of sight, Madge hurries off. She needs to find Birdy and set things in motion.

Before she's even rounded the corner to cut through the back side of Eleven's section of the building, someone catches her by the arm and pulls her into a hug.

Portia pulls back after only a few seconds, her violet eyes bright. "You're glowing."

She doesn't glance down at Madge's middle, carefully concealed in a fluffy dress, thankfully the fashion of the season, just reaches out and pats Madge's cheek.

Taking her hand, she pulls Madge with her, toward where the dressing rooms for Twelve's Victors are.

Much as Madge would like to tell her she hasn't got time, she can't. She owes Portia an explanation.

Despite being wary of her stylist at first, Portia is now one of Madge's dearest friends. She's kept Madge's outfits stylish, but not forced her to change, molded into something to be devoured by the Capitol.

"You won by being a diamond, not a rhinestone," she'd explained. "I won't lower our standards now."

Though Madge knew she couldn't tell her all the delicate details of her life in Twelve, she'd been a true comfort to her in the Capitol. Portia had no ulterior motive other than to make Madge shine, and to continue to make a name for herself as a brilliant designer.

She was at least a friend who wasn't constantly playing a part or threatening to kill people.

Once they're in the dressing room, the door shut, Madge's hand jumps to her necklace as Portia studies her carefully. When it warms, she sighs, letting a smile find its way onto her face.

"You're going to make pregnancy glamorous," Portia tells her, finally letting her eyes drop to Madge's stomach. She reaches a hand out, letting it rest gently on the small, hidden swell. Tears begin filling her eyes. "I'm so happy for you."

Whether hormones or stress bubbling over, Madge begins crying, letting Portia pull her into a warm hug.

"I'm so scared," she whispers. She can't tell her exactly why, but she needs to say the words out loud to someone who isn't prepared to talk her out of her madness.

Portia steps back and takes Madge's hands, gives them a squeeze.

"You're my diamond girl, Madge. You'll shine at whatever you do."

Madge knows she's talking about raising the baby, about being a mother, but she pretends she means her plan. If Portia, who can turn a coal lump of a girl into a diamond centerpiece, believes in her, then it might just be possible.

Shaking the tears away, Portia pats Madge's hands.

"I've already started designing outfits for the baby." She turns and goes to the vanity, plucks up her well worn note pad and begins flipping through it. "This one is for if it's a-"

"Do you think it can wait, Portia?"

They both turn and find Birdy lounging on the overstuffed couch, reapplying her green lipstick in her little compact.

"Madge and I have quite a bit to discuss."

Portia's eyebrows rise as she looks to Madge, curious if she really wants her to go

When Madge simply shrugs, flashes an apologetic smile, Portia sighs.

"I'll show you later then," she tells Madge, closing the notepad and smiling softly.

Birdy waits until Portia has gone, letting the door slide silently shut behind her and seal with a hiss, before she closes her compact and fixes Madge in an irritable glare.

"Whatever you're planning, don't."

She's been too busy party planning and being put upon to be her normally nosy self, so she hasn't been listening in on Madge, and that's a relief. It'll give Madge a chance to explain things a little more elegantly.

"I know you like the kid, but that bun in your oven gets priority. At least it hasn't annoyed me yet."

Hurrying across the room, Madge half crashes onto the couch beside her, explanation and plea already building in her head.

"Just listen."

Birdy's mouth clamps shut and she chews her tongue, but despite the grievances she's clearly eager to voice, she stays quiet.

Taking her silence before she can snatch it back, Madge takes a breath and begins.

#######

Katniss and Prim come by the day after the Reaping.

They bring goat cheese and a freshly caught rabbit, give words of comfort that don't give Gale any ease of mind.

"Rory's not bad with the bow," Katniss reminds him as they clean the rabbit. "And he's better with snares." She keeps her eyes down, tries to sound encouraging. "He's got a good chance."

There's no conviction in her voice, despite her best efforts. She thinks Rory's as good as dead.

Prim does a little better, managing to get Prim to smile after promising to teach her to milk Lady and that she'd come watch the chariot rides with the family.

"He's going to be so handsome," she tells Posy. "Like a prince."

As a sign of just how grim things are, Vick doesn't even make a joke at that remark, and the absence is painful.

Posy, at least, appreciates the effort. She nods her agreement before rattling off all the possible outfits Rory might get to wear.

Their mom stays quiet, starts in on her laundry and gives their visitors weak smiles, but Gale knows she's about to fall apart at the seams worrying about Rory. She's doesn't say anything, probably thinking it's all her burden to bear, afraid to add to her children's trouble, but Gale can see the red rims to her eyes and the way her focus is off. Her heart, soul, and mind, are with Rory.

Much as he'd like to carry some of the weight of his missing brother for her, Gale knows she won't let him. All he can do is keep working and hunting and hoping his faith in Madge pays off.

Gale keeps his head down the first day back to the mines after the Reaping.

To his relief the other miners seem to understand that he doesn't want to talk. They let him toil away, stewing in his anger and frustration, taking it out on the equipment and the coal.

It isn't until the day before the chariot parade that Thom finally breaks the uncomfortable silence that's taken up residence around Gale.

"Everyone is pulling for Rory," he tells him. "I mean, no one wants anything bad to happen to the Shumard girl, but her chances are slim at best."

And nonexistent at worst.

Gale scowls to himself. He doesn't want to think about the poor kid he wants sacrificed to save his little brother.

She's cannon fodder and he doesn't like to think of her as a real person. If that makes him awful, so be it. He'll pay whatever price is on his soul for heartlessness of it gets Rory home.

"Some of the guys are talking about taking up a collection, you know, to raise money so we can send a gift when the Games start." He forces a pained smile. "People respect you and, well, there's never been a volunteer before. Everyone-we all think Rory's pretty brave for doing what he did. It's the least we can do."

Part of Gale wants to snap that it's the absolute very least they can do, but the sensible part of his brain reminds him there's not much else they can do.

That's the beauty and the tragedy of the Games.

Forcing a smile that's more of a grimace, Gale nods and knocks Thom in the shoulder with his mining helmet.

"Thanks man." He jerks his head toward the gates. "I'm gonna-I need to get home." He shrugs, not wanting to mention the chariot parade looming in his future and the fact that it might be one of the last times he sees Rory alive. "You know."

Thom's expression doesn't change, stays somber and tired, as he nods.

"Yeah. See you tomorrow."

Swallowing down bile, Gale nods and turns, heading home to prepare his family for another trial in the Games.

#######

Birdy's expression stays unwavering as Madge explains her plan.

It isn't until Madge finally stops, flushed and out of breath, that she even moves.

Her eyebrow rise and she makes a harsh noise.

"Are you out your damn mind?"

Madge blinks, unsure if she actually wants her to answer or not.

"It's your plan," she finally says, managing to keep the quiver from her voice.

"My preliminary plan!" She coils her fingers in her hair and tugs at the roots. "It's parts of a plan, fractions of a plan, not a fully realized, completely thought through, ready to attempt plan!"

"That doesn't mean it won't work," Madge tries to reason with her as a knot begins forming in her stomach. "A lot of your plans are works in progress."

In fact, changing plans mid-process seemed to be her specialty, a trait she was always trying to pass along to Madge.

"Be two steps ahead, but never let them know, and always have a plan B."

Birdy often has plans B and plans C and plans all the way to Z, each ready to take the place of the one before it in a moment's notice. It's why Madge needs her help.

"My plans are flexible, not skeletons." She shakes her head. "So what if we get the hovercrafts grounded and the military bases locked down? There's still Peacekeepers all over Panem-"

"But if we cut communications-"

"Then they'll still be dangerous and loyal," she cuts across her. "Even if we destroy the plants providing the electricity and take out the generators, what then? We starve the Capitol? They've got enough squeeze to heat and eat burritos to keep them alive for the next year, and I've got enough blood on my hands, I won't go in and kill them." She looks close to tears. "Have you considered that? Have you Madge?"

Shaking, Madge nods. "I have."

She hadn't, but it was hardly something she was going to admit to when she needed Birdy's confidence.

Mind racing, Madge carefully controls her voice as she begins to speak.

"We get pilots for the hovercrafts," she tells her, not entirely sure what she's saying, just letting the words flow as her mind builds the plan. "We have them take a few and go to the Districts, use them against the Peacekeepers if they begin retaliating. We warn them through the emergency system. It's the only one we'll leave up when Mr. Latier crashes the system."

It's not wonderful, but Madge is sure it's a good patch. It'll work.

Birdy frowns, her eyebrows knitting together. "We can't find that many pilots." She wrinkles her nose. "But they won't have to know that. If they think we have pilots…"

Perception is everything. The belief that the rebels have pilots for the hovercrafts and are capable of destroying the Peacekeepers and the Capitol might just be enough to keep them in line, at least until they're able to arm the populations of the Districts and overrun the Capitol.

It will have to be enough.

"What about President Snow?" Birdy asks as she considers Madge's addition to her plan. "He's still a rallying point for the Capitol."

They exchange a look, both knowing what President Snow's fate will have to be.

His death is the only way to true freedom. He's the Games' greatest supporter, the face of Panem, and as long as he lives there will be no peace.

"You know this is treason," Birdy finally says, her voice barely a whisper.

Madge just nods.

They're taking on the Capitol, President Snow. If they fail, and there's a good chance they will, death will be the kindest fate they can hope for.

A tiny smile forms on Birdy's lips.

"Who wants a long life anyways?" She crosses her arms and arches an eyebrow. "So, how are we going to make sure these Games are so enthralling that no one will notice we're plotting to overthrow our delightful government?"

Hands flexing on her middle, Madge closes her eyes.

"We announce my pregnancy." She takes a deep breath. "What's more interesting than a tragedy about to play out on live television? One of the Diamond Girl's Tributes is the brother of the father to her unborn child, they'll love it."

They won't be able to get enough of it.

She'll be their sole focus, and everyone else will be free to carry out their plans.

Opening her eyes, Madge expect to be told she's made, but instead finds Birdy grinning.

"You should've started with that." She snorts. "Now that's one hell of a plan."


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: Like always, thanks to Nursekelly for putting up with me. Also, probably the last update for a few weeks, real life wins the battle for time once again.

The anxious feeling that had been building a knot in Madge's chest loosens once she knows she's got another ally.

It reforms when Birdy throws her head back and laughs.

"Oh I can't wait to see Dorothy in front of the cameras!" She sobers up, glaring around at the room before dissolving into laughter again. "It's gonna be great."

Madge grimaces. Gale probably won't be his best in front of the cameras. She can only hope he can keep his disdain for the Capitol under control while the film crews are around.

"Think of all the embarrassing questions they're going to ask, his head is going to explode!"

Suddenly an image of Gale, sitting in her parents' living room, looking well groomed and grumpy, scowling at Capitol reporters, forms in her head and a wave of nausea hits her.

"Maybe Portia can inject something in his face to keep him from looking constantly constipated," Birdy adds thoughtfully, pulling jerky from her dress and gnawing at it.

"Portia?" Madge asks, startled out of her worry. "How would Portia get to him?"

Surely Birdy isn't considering sending her all the way to Twelve just to annoy Gale. Actually, she might.

Birdy frowns. "She won't have to get to him. He'll be here."

Feeling like she's missed something rather important, Madge shakes her head. "Why-how-why would Gale be here?"

Looking a little worried for Madge's sanity, Birdy speaks very slowly.

"When he gets brought here. After you announce the pregnancy." Birdy's eyebrows knit together. "Snow will bring him here to keep you in line. To show you just how powerful he is."

Madge shakes her head. "No, President Snow won't bring Gale here." He can't. "He'll want to try to control the problem. Make the reporters wait until after the Games to bring him here, as an incentive."

She's sure of it. She'd been banking on it a little. The Capitol would rally behind Rory to get Gale brought in sooner.

Even if Madge didn't actually need their support, if her plans went well there'd be no Games to need Sponsors for, she needed President Snow to believe that was her angle.

Birdy doesn't look convinced, and that alone makes Madge feel very naive for having ever thought differently.

"It's actually for the best," Birdy finally sighs. "With him here we'll be able to keep him from being a complete dick to people he needs to kiss the asses of."

She stands, and Madge pushes herself up after her.

"I guess I'll see you after the parade," Birdy says, stuffing her jerky back into her dress.

Madge nods. They're both on for analysis.

It's when she'll make the announcement, set her plan off.

It's a choice to jump or fall, after all.

#######

Rory looks spectacular.

Elvira has done her very best work, that much is obvious. Madge supposed it's a shame it's all going to be for nothing in the end.

"It's itchy," he complains, tugging at the collar.

It's black and red, shimmering, coal smoldering, ready to ignite and burn them all.

He looks powerful and dangerous, not a child marked for death.

"At least be glad it's covering you," Mr. Abernathy tells him darkly, jerking his head toward the pair from Four, both barely decent in their seaweed outfits.

Madge can't even look at them. They might be older, and volunteers, but it's still obscene to her, even after years of dealing with the Capitol.

Finnick has complained about it more than once.

"It doesn't exactly inspire fear in the opposition," he'd told them after Four's final Tribute had been killed the year before.

"None of the outfits do," Madge pointed out.

"Do you remember how Ursula dressed me?" Birdy's nose wrinkled up, still clearly repulsed even after all these years by her chariot ride outfit. "Gingham, Finnick. Pink gingham. Terrifying, yes, but only to the one wearing it."

He'd gone on to point out that at least she'd been fully dressed. "No chance of a wardrobe malfunction that way."

"Seeing as I was malnourished and twelve they wouldn't have gotten much of a show anyways," Birdy reminded him.

It hadn't seemed to make Finnick any happier, and Madge couldn't say she blamed him. Victors from Four, and One for that matter, are set up to be sold off like meat from the very beginning. There are no options for them as there'd been for Madge.

Once the Capitol falls though, it won't matter. There'll be no more Finnicks and Cashmeres, and Madge can only hope that will be as much a comfort to her friend as it is to her. Finnick will be free, and the lure of getting to make his life his own is hopefully enough to make him want to help her.

Reaching out, Madge straightens the softly glowing bow Cistel had attached to Charity's hair.

The smoldering outfit doesn't make her look intimidating or powerful, just small, close to being consumed.

Rory looks to be about to catch fire, Charity looks like she's about to burn out.

Still, Cistel had at least tried to make her look nice, even if she does continue to shoot Elvira sulky looks and had attached her bow crookedly.

"What the hell are Chaff's kids wearing?" Mr. Abernathy asks, squinting toward where Eleven is trying to board their chariot.

Their team had apparently gone for a new angle this year, dressing them in grapes and vines, a nod to Eleven's winemaking industry.

They look like they've been smeared with smashed grapes and tied up with scratchy brown cord, but Madge supposes they're at least thinking outside the box.

Giving Madge a little wink, Mr. Abernathy heads toward his old friend, leaving Madge to tend to their Tributes.

Elvira grabs Rory by the hand and drags him over to fix his makeup. Cistel doesn't bother with Charity, just crosses her arms and stalks off without a word.

"She said it was her turn to have the boy Tribute," Charity says, her voice barely carrying over the din of shouting and horses. "She was real mad she got stuck with me."

Madge shakes her head. "She's never happy anyways. That's not your fault."

Trying to straighten the bow a little more, Madge forces a smile.

"Remember, keep your head up and smile, okay?"

Charity shrugs, her gray eyes focusing over Madge's shoulder.

"Does it matter? If either of us comes home, it'll be Rory." Her gaze refocuses on Madge and she tries to smile. "He's gorgeous. They'll love him. I don't have a chance."

For a few seconds it isn't Charity standing in front of her, waiting for death, but her own little girl, and Madge's heart breaks.

Pulling Charity into a hug, Madge blinks back tears.

She wishes she could tell her it's going to be alright, that even if Rory is the favorite it won't matter, Madge is going to get them both home. She can't though.

Until the Capitol falls, she can only hold the little girl's hand and offer her empty comfort.

"No matter what," she finally says, "no matter how it seems, I'm working to get you home, okay?"

Pulling back, Charity nods, even though Madge knows she can't understand, and she won't. Not until the end.

Rory comes up beside them, his makeup now so heavy his eyes look bruised.

"She says I look fashionable, but I kinda just feel like an asshole."

Charity giggles and from somewhere behind them, someone else laughs.

The girl from One, wearing what looks like a half formed bathing suit, gives Rory a little wave from over her shoulder as she passes by, and despite his thick makeup, his color deepens.

From the other direction, someone retches loudly.

Turning, they find another girl, this one made up to resemble the worst caricature of a cowgirl Madge has ever seen, standing a few feet from them.

Violently pink pearl snap shirt, a skirt fashioned out of what looks to be black and white cow hide, and a cowboy hat so big Madge wonders if it might carry her off in a good gust of wind, the girl just grins when she spots them looking at her.

"Chaparral," Ms. Jacson calls out to her Tribute from over by Ten's group, "come get on the chariot."

With another flash of a grin the girl, Chaparral, disappears around back of a banner.

Rory coughs and tries not to look too pleased with himself while Charity begins gnawing her lip again.

Before anyone can comment on Rory's apparent popularity with his fellow Tributes, Mr. Abernathy reappears, chuckling to himself. He eyes Rory's outfit for a moment before glancing back at Eleven's chariot.

"I never thought I'd say this, but thank whatever higher power there is you guys got Elvira and Cistel." He jerks his thumb over his shoulder. "Damn."

Madge just grimaces. "Right. Alright, both of you in the chariot." She forces one last smile. "Heads up, smiles on."

Don't let them see you breaking.

She gives Charity a final hug.

"And remember, no matter what, I'm working to get you home."

The girl nods, and Madge truly hopes she does remember when the time comes.

A peacekeeper begins directing the chariots into place and Mr. Abernathy offers Madge his arm.

Taking it, Madge leans into him, suddenly too warm, a little light headed.

"You sure you want to do this tonight?" He asks, his voice low and in a forced calm Madge doesn't like.

Nodding, Madge smiles, hoping it doesn't come off too strained.

She'll rush off to the post parade analysis and drop her big news, then there's no turning back.

"It's the best way."

It's the easiest way.

It's the only way.

And she hopes it's the way that works.

#######

The day of the chariot parade seems to drag by.

Gale forces himself through work, ignoring even the positive words tossed his way. Words can't form in his mouth, only grunts and strange, strangled sounds even he isn't sure the meaning of.

He doesn't care if it sounds rude or ungrateful, all he cares about is getting home to comfort his mom.

When they're let off work early, a 'treat' that had been introduced during the Quell to build 'excitement' for the required viewing, Gale wants nothing more than to disappear into the woods. He wants to set snares and maybe shoot the bow, provide for his family instead of being useless, which is all he's felt he's been since Rory was taken, but when he gets to the fence it's buzzing with electricity. Somehow, he feels like he should've expected it.

For an hour he glares at it, trapping him in his own personal hell, physical proof of how weak and powerless he is, until he hears the grating noise of Peacekeeper laughter coming toward him and decides to head home.

Kicking gravel as he walks the road, he considers going by the Mayor's house.

Matilda would be a good distraction, and she likes Rory, something that's always baffled Gale.

"She likes Haymitch too though, so maybe she just likes obnoxious people," Vick had pointed out when Gale had wondered why someone as sweet as Matilda tolerated Rory.

Gale had half expected her to turn up on their doorstep the day after the Reaping, looking like she'd blown up on a breeze and bringing them a basketful of candy.

She hadn't though, and while it had confused him at first, he'd quickly realized it was for the best. They have enough problems without having to explain why the Mayor's wife is at their house.

He supposes Madge's dad had warned her off of it, unless Matilda had exercised her strange ability to know things without being told. Either way, it's lucky for her not to have come.

There's just as little reason for Gale to go to the Mayor's house to see his wife as there would be for her to go to his house in the Seam though, so he keeps his feet heading home.

Katniss and Prim are already there, Prim playing dolls with Posy and Katniss a game of cards with Rory while Valencia sits at the table with his mom, quietly talking over cups of tea.

"Gale!" Posy shouts, jumping up and rushing to him, throwing her arms around his middle.

"You got off a bit ago, didn't you?" His mother asks, a crease forming between her eyes.

Nodding, Gale tosses his helmet to the corner, plops onto the chair next to Valencia, and begins pulling his boots off, grunting, "Went on a walk."

Something sets gently down in front of him, and when he looks up, he finds Mellark's somber face looking down at him, offering him a cup of tea.

Posy decides to make introductions, dramatically waving her hand at Mellark.

"This is Peeta, Gale, he brought us cookies and made tea and he said he'd play dolls with me and Prim."

Gale tries to keep from laughing. "Yeah, we've met."

"Your brother brings me some of my secret ingredients for my pastries," Mellark tells her.

Far from looking impressed, Posy simply closes her eyes and sighs. "Yeah." Wrapping her hand around Mellark's wrist, Posy begins tugging him toward the dolls, smiling brightly up at him as she does. "Come on, Peeta, the tea is done now, you can play."

Judging by how quickly she forgets Gale, and how conveniently she leaves out that Mellark is probably only there to give Katniss support, Gale thinks maybe he should warn his best friend his baby sister might be crushing on her boyfriend.

While Posy lords over Mellark and Prim, not really playing dolls so much as directing her own production, Gale turns his back on them.

It should be funny, Mellark in his house, making him tea and playing on their rough floor with his sister, but any humor he might've seen in it can't find its way out.

He doesn't say anything, just picks up the tea and sips it.

They stay quiet, playing and sipping, until the television clicks on.

"And we're coming to you live from the City Circle!" Templesmith shouts over the music, his hair covered in confetti.

"Happy Hunger Games, everyone!" Flickerman adds, his hair an electric orange, making him look a little like his head has been set on fire.

Everyone instantly goes to the couch to watch.

Vick settles on the ground closest to the television and Gale's mom perches at the edge of the middle cushion on the couch while Katniss and Prim squish together on the far end. Mellark sits cross legged in front of them, but Posy doesn't drop down next to him. Instead, she waits for Gale to take up the spot next to their mom and crawls into his lap.

She leans into him as her eyes focus on the television and her lip between her teeth.

They begin rattling off nonsense Gale has no interest in, though for half an hour he has to listen to them before the main event begins.

One comes first, barely dressed, and Gale covers Posy's eyes until the spectacle passes.

Two looks lethal, Three terrified, and Four's costume makes Gale cover Posy's eyes again. It's worse than the swim suits.

"I'm not lookin' Gale," she grumbles, crossing her arms and slouching against him.

He doesn't argue with her, just prays the theme of the night, skin, and lots of it, doesn't carry on to Twelve's outfit.

None of the other outfits are as obscene, though Gale thinks the cowboy costumes Ten got saddled with and the bizarre grape and vine combo Eleven had to wear are worse than any so called bathing suit.

By the time the camera pans to Twelve, Gale is past being anxious. He's half off the couch, Posy pressed tightly to him as a strange kind of comfort when Rory finally makes his appearance.

Posy gasps when he comes in to focus.

He looks older, sturdier, almost intimidating in his strange makeup, eyes narrowed as he glares out at the screaming crowds.

"And here's our Volunteer from Twelve," Flickerman announces. "And-my! Is he burning?"

Vick, who'd already crawled closer to the television quickly turns to their mom, shaking his head.

"He isn't," he reassures her. "It just looks like it."

Gale leans in closer, squinting, and sees Vick is right.

Rory isn't burning, but glowing, low but bright, like a chunk of coal. The fabric shimmers and flickers, drawing all attention to Rory as he begins to wave, smiling winningly out at the cheering crowds.

"She looks scared," Posy softly says in Gale's ear.

Sure enough, looking tiny and frightened, seemingly trying to vanish into Rory's side, Gale spots Charity.

Despite being dressed similarly, Charity doesn't glow in the light of the flashing cameras. She's a poor imitation of Rory, and when Flickerman and Templesmith begin half screaming their praise of the creativity of the stylist, they fail to even mention the second Tribute. She might as well not even be there.

Even looking ill, like she might pass out, Charity does manage a smile when Rory leans over and whispers something to her. It perks her up, and she follows his lead, raising a small hand into the air and waving.

It's too late for her to make an impression though.

The parade has become all about Rory, the brave Volunteer, the handsome Tribute, the Boy Who Burns.

It only feels like a few seconds pass before the program is over.

Rory is gone again, and the fleeting minutes of television time seem pitiful. Not long enough at all.

"He looked good, didn't he?" His mom asks, looking around anxiously. "They seemed impressed."

Valencia, who'd stayed at the kitchen table during the program, nods, forces a smile. "He looked spectacular, Hazelle."

"He was the best one," Prim assures her. "He'll have loads of Sponsors already."

Gale wonders if she's right, if Madge is out talking Rory up, fighting for his life.

She'll wear herself out, and he hopes Haymitch makes her drink plenty of water, get rest. The stress of the Games was always going to be bad for her, but Rory being there is going to make it worse.

Before he can think on it too much though, Madge appears on the screen.

She's dressed in shimmering white, her trademark color, diamond dust sprinkled on her skin and little gems woven into her hair. If Gale believed in angels, he'd say she looked like one.

A terrified angel.

To anyone else she'd look happy, excited even, but Gale can see the strain in her smile even on his family's shitty television. There isn't enough diamond dust in the world to mask the panic etched in her features.

Something is wrong, Gale knows it.

Alameda is seated beside her, along with an older man from One and the dark haired man from Four, and they twitter pointlessly for a few minutes discussing a new restaurant Alameda is opening and then the plot of some stupid Capitol series, before the moderator tries to reign them in.

"What do you think of this year's batch of Tributes, Iridi?"

The old man clears his throat and shoots the other three a fussy look before clearing his throat.

"As always, One put on a good opening," Iridi says, voice wheezing. "Showed our strengths-"

"Showed off your 'ass'-ets, you mean, right, Iridi?" Alameda snorts.

"Not more than Four did," the dark haired man quickly adds before they both dissolve into laughter.

The moderator looks flustered but Iridi begins snapping at the pair.

"You're disgraceful the both of you!" He shouts, hitting Alameda with a magazine though it only succeeding in making her howl louder. "Are you drunk?"

In answer, Alameda pulls a flask from her dress and waves it over her head.

While the Iridi continues to shout and the other two laugh, the moderator straightens his papers, lists of questions he'd meant to ask no doubt, and moves on to Madge, apparently the only sane Victor on the program.

"What a delightful Tribute you've managed to snag," he opens, his wig a little askew from dodging Alameda's flask, which she'd thrown at Iridi. "Brave and handsome. Quite a combo."

Madge nods, her eyes cutting to the dark haired Victor, now rolling around on the ground in a tussle with Alameda, fighting for her shoe for some reason, before smiling.

"Rory is quite the catch," she agrees. "He's Haymitch's Tribute though, sadly."

She sighs dramatically, and Gale feels his insides churn. She's setting him up for something.

"Oh?" The moderator frowns, almost comically. "Why didn't you charm him into letting you have a sure thing?"

Strain building in her features, Madge keeps her smile in place.

"It just didn't seem fair," she baits him again.

"Why not?"

The moderator is at the edge of his seat, face eager, as Madge's smile widens.

"Well, Rory's practically my family now, so I figured it would be just too much of an advantage for me to be his Mentor." Her hands settle on her stomach proudly, and Gale's heart stops. "You see, his brother, Gale, and I are together and well," she waits a breath, building the anticipation, "I'm pregnant!"

For one horrible second, the air leave Gale's chest and his mind seems to stop. She can't possibly have said what he thinks she just said.

Desperation had led Madge to desperate measures.

She shouldn't have, there are other ways of doing this, but Madge clearly hadn't seen them, and now there's no going back.

Just as suddenly as it left, the air rushes back into his lungs, stinging in his chest

He blinks, then feels every eye in the room on him.

"Gale?" His mom whispers his name, her eyes wide, probably curious if she's just heard the truth, that she's going to be a grandma. On live television no less.

Forcing a smile that feels more like a grimace, Gale turns to her, preparing himself for questions he isn't sure how to answer, and sighs, "Surprise."


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: Thanks to Nursekelly for all the help.

The moment the words pass her lips Madge wants to snatch them back. Her freedom, however tenuous, is gone from her. She'll be hounded relentlessly.

She wishes she could've warned Gale what was coming, it makes her sick to think he's being blindsided by this.

It wasn't feasible though. There wasn't time and despite seemingly being able to materialize out of thin air, Birdy wasn't able to appear out of nowhere.

This was the only way. She just hopes Gale understands and forgives her.

"Pregnant!" The moderator squeals, looking almost as delighted as if she'd just told him she was bearing his child. "Amazing!"

The show suddenly stops being about the chariot ride and costumes, the Games, and all about Madge. Just as she'd expected.

It's as if such a thing had never occurred in the Capitol. He begins firing questions, asking about Gale and how far along she is, what names they've considered, boy, girl, will they raise it in the Capitol…

"And when is the wedding?"

It catches her off guard. She'd been so focused on baby questions she'd forgotten she wasn't married.

"Oh, well, I thought the people of the Capitol would want to help with that," she quickly recovers. "They've always taken such good care of me."

The moderator looks close to tears at that, sniffing and taking Madge's hand, patting it in a familiar kind of way.

Beaming around at the film crew, Madge glances down at Birdy, now staring blankly at her.

She looks truly and wholly shocked, and if Madge didn't know any better, she'd believe this was the first time she was hearing of Madge's happy news.

Anton, who'd been scuffling playfully with Birdy on the floor, no longer has his normally cheerful expression on his face. Instead he looks annoyed, pushing on angry, but not with Madge.

In the blink of an eye his smile is back and he's pushing himself off the floor, pulling Birdy with him.

They're instantly on Madge, hugging and congratulating her.

For another two hours Madge answers questions, smiles, pretends she's having the time of her life, before fanning herself and pretending to be too tired to carry on.

"I'm just so exhausted," she laughs, feeling nowhere as giddy as she plays at.

After another hour of the moderator prodding her, trying to get her to stay 'John ust another minute', she, Birdy, and Anton all finally leave.

Iridi stays, though the moderator doesn't seem interested in talking about the Games.

All he's interested in is Madge, her baby, and Gale.

The second they're out from under the blazing lights, Madge feels tears form in her eyes.

Gale is going to be furious with her. She's just told the world about their baby, about their secret, and she hadn't even given him the chance to tell his own mother about this mess they're in.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me," she hears Anton say.

Swatting at her eyes, Madge turns to look at him. She isn't sure why he'd think she'd tell him such delicate information, but she doesn't want him angry with her, he's one of the few Victors she truly feels is her friend.

It isn't her he's glaring at though.

Birdy has her arms crossed and her expression closed as she stares at Anton, not apologetic in the least.

"It wasn't my secret to tell."

That doesn't seem to make the news any easier for Anton to swallow.

His jaw tenses and he seems to debate something for a minute before making a frustrated noise and walking off, giving Madge a pat on the shoulder and a half hearted 'congrats' before vanishing around a corner.

Madge watches for him to come back, but when he doesn't, she turns back to Birdy.

She hasn't moved, seems rooted in the spot, staring at the spot Anton had been standing in moments before, her expression unchanged.

Finally, Madge walks to her and reaches out, but before she can put her hand to her shoulder, Birdy jerks away and begins digging in her purse.

"Well that's quick," she mutters, pulling a disk out and scanning over the flashing letter blurring across it. She sighs, closing her eyes before smiling at Madge. "The President wants me to get out to Twelve and pick up your baby daddy. He's doing damage control since you hijacked the analysis. Wants Dorothy here asap."

Chewing her lip, Madge nods. "Yeah, Birdy, about Anto-"

"He'll get over it," she cuts her off.

She doesn't sound convinced, but Madge doesn't press the matter. She'll talk when she's ready, that's how it's always been.

"I gotta get going," she tells Madge, stuffing the disk back in her bag. She forces a smile. "See you in a few hours."

Without a backwards glance, she brushes past Madge and disappears down the hall, leaving Madge with just her guilt and uncertainty to keep her company.

#######

Gale stares at his feet, at the hole in his sock, as his mom shakes her head, stares at him in a kind of horrified shock.

She hasn't really talked since Madge had made the announcement, just sat there on the couch as Gale had timidly explained the situation to the baffled Everdeens, the bemused Mellark, and a delighted Posy.

"I can't believe I'm gonna be an auntie," Posy had said, already practicing rocking her doll. "Can I name the baby?"

"This is...really exciting," Prim told him, nodding a little too forcefully. "Right mom?"

Valencia jerks, looking startled, but her eyes don't waver from Gale. "Oh, yes, very good exciting."

Katniss didn't say anything for a moment, just watched Gale closely, as though she wasn't quite sure she knew him before her eyebrows knitted together.

"So it's not some lie just to get Rory home?" She asked. "Madge is really pregnant? It's really yours?"

Gale simply nodded.

She stared for a minute longer, seemingly confused, then forced a smile. "Congratulations then, I think."

It almost made Gale laugh, she'd never looked so uncomfortable. The sentiment was genuine though, even if she was confused.

When they'd left, Mellark, the only member of their troop that wasn't blindsided by the announcement, despite having acted the part, clapped Gale on the shoulder, smiled, and whispered, "Congrats."

Once they'd left, Gale's mom had simply pointed at her room. They needed to talk, clearly.

"But I wanna talk to Gale about the baby," Posy whined, stomping her foot.

She wasn't bothered at all by the years of being kept in the dark, her whole focus was on her impending aunthood and baby names.

One glare from their mom silenced her complaints, and as Gale slowly walked into the bedroom, she'd flopped on the ground in front of the television, rocking her babydoll as she sulked.

Gale half wishes he were back out there with her. Being interrogated by his baby sister about his plans for her future niece or nephew seems preferable to the uncomfortable silence he's enduring with his mom.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She finally asks.

Shrugging, Gale tries to answer, but his mouth feels like it's full of sand.

The bed sinks and his mom's worn hands weave around his, pulling them to her lap.

"Gale…"

"I couldn't," he finally says. "Madge said-she wanted to wait until after the Games. But Rory got Reaped and...she must've changed her mind."

She's spinning a web and playing her game, trying to get Rory home.

When he glances at her, she's got her eyes closed, tears are dripping off her jaw and onto her faded dress.

"She's trying to save him."

Gale nods. "Yeah."

"And you're going to be a daddy." Her eyes open and she looks at Gale smiling. She reaches up and pats his cheek. "My baby is having a baby!"

Gale chuckles, leans in and kisses her forehead.

"I am."

Pain shoots through Gale's scalp and he feels himself being jerked painfully down by his ears, eye level with his mom.

"So help me, Gale, if you ever, ever, keep something like this from me again, you will never have another child."

Tears of pain begin filling Gale's eyes as he tries to nod.

Just as quickly as she'd grabbed him, she lets go, pulls him into a hug.

"I'm gonna be a grandma and Madge is going to get Rory home."

Gale doesn't point out that there are strings attached to victory, prices to pay that he doesn't want to imagine Rory doing. He also doesn't say that Madge is up to something more than it seems, it's part of her game, one he still doesn't understand even after all these years. This is the happiest he's seen her in days and he can't make himself take her smile away.

By the time she finishes crying, it's well after midnight.

The television has clicked off and Posy has fallen asleep by the door, apparently trying to listen in.

Scooping her up, Gale puts her in their mom's bed, kissing her forehead and tucking her in before kissing his mom goodnight.

"You're going to be such a good dad," she whispers, kissing his cheek.

He hopes she's right. So far, he doesn't feel like he's done too spectacularly.

Vick is already in bed when Gale finally gets in his room.

He hasn't said a single word since the announcement, he's the only person that had known about the baby and he hasn't so much as made a noise.

"She told them so they'll support Rory, right?" He asks, voice small, so very, painfully young.

Squinting, Gale sees him wipe his face on his blanket, hears him sniffle.

"She's got a plan, right."

Crossing the room, sidestepping Rory's empty bed, Gale almost collapses next to Vick.

"She is...she does."

She always does, he just hopes it's a good one.

"It's gonna be okay," he promises Vick, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and pulling him into a hug. "It's gonna be okay."

He hopes he isn't lying.

#######

Mr. Abernathy is at Madge's side before she can set so much as a single foot outside the studio.

"There's hundreds of them waiting." He scowls at the door.

Shaking, even after all this time she still gets nervous when she's the sole focus of the media circus, Madge affixes a smile to her face and takes his arm. "Let's get this over with then."

They've no more than racked the door open when the cameras begin flashing and questions are shouted at her.

It's the same thing over and over again, the same childish questions repeatedly yelled as she and Mr. Abernathy push their way through the thick crush of reporters. There'll be thousands of pictures of the shining top of Madge's head plastering the so called newspapers in a few minutes.

Then, by morning, they'll begin branching out, curious about Gale, and by noon tomorrow, Rory.

They're comforting in their predictability. That's what Birdy always says.

By the time they reach the dark windowed car that will take them back to the Training Center, Madge's eyes are burning from the flashes and her ears ring from all the screaming.

"They're relentless," Mr. Abernathy snarls as he pulls the car door shut, crushing the too ambitious lens of one of the cameras as he does.

It cracks loudly and pops off, falling to the floor of the back seat as the door clicks locked.

Glaring at it, Mr. Abernathy picks it up, rolls down the window and hurls it at the nearest reporter.

Madge doesn't get to see if it actually hits them, but Mr. Abernathy's aim has improved over the last few years, so her guess is it had.

There's a small screen on the back of the seat, and Madge sees the channel is set to one of the twenty-four hour news stations.

The report less news and more gossip, but the two are one and the same for the Capitol.

Madge's own face is already flashing across it, bold letters spelling out her exciting news as reporters discuss what she'll name it, interview so-called experts about what they think she's having and what the baby will look like. People off the street are already being polled, several claiming to know Madge personally and have insider information on the pregnancy and her beauty routine.

It's entertaining, at least to the Capitol. To Madge, and she suspects most of Panem, it's silly and pointless.

It's distracting though, and that's all that matters.

When the car starts moving, Mr. Abernathy shifts in the seat and hastily begins assessing her for damage, one hand on her belly and the other cupping her cheek.

"They hurt you? Feeling okay? When did you drink something last? You need water."

Before Madge can answer even one question, he's reached for the cups in the back seat and begun filling it with water, forcing it into her hands when it's full.

"Idiots, jostling a lady in your condition like that."

"I'm pregnant, not made of glass," she reminds him, again.

"It's too much stress," he grumbles, his hand patting her stomach again. "Right, kiddo?"

Whether or not the baby agrees, it kicks at Mr. Abernathy's hand, causing him to chuckle.

"She's gonna be a smart one, just like her momma."

Too exhausted to argue anymore, Madge just slouches into the soft seats, slumping sideways into Mr. Abernathy.

When he wraps an arm around her, presses a kiss into her hair and engulfs her in his strangely comforting scent of cigar smoke and cologne, she relaxes and closes her eyes. She just needs a little break. The stress of the last few days, of the announcement, of the act, has stretched her thin and she just needs a few moments of quiet.

A minute passes, then ten, before they stop and Madge feels Mr. Abernathy give her a little shake awake.

"Come on, sweetheart, time to get up."

Feeling sluggish, a short nap was clearly a bad idea, Madge nods and prepares for the next round of camera flashes and questions.

They don't disappoint. The door has barely opened before they begin shouting and clicking, all vying for her attention.

Madge graces them with smiles and waves, wagged fingers, and reminders that they'll need to contact the coordinator for Victor relations before she can give them a proper interview before Mr. Abernathy manages to squish them through the crowd and inside the building.

It's eerily silent inside the Training Center, especially compared to the madness still going on outside.

Something squeaks behind them, and as they round the corner toward the elevators, Madge sees it came from a reporter, now squashed painfully against the glass front of the building, held in place by his overly eager fellows.

She barely has time to wonder if they'll realize the poor man is turning blue before Mr. Abernathy has pulled her around the corner fully.

As they approach the elevator, several people are getting out.

Cashmere huffs, rolls her eyes, then passes Madge without a word. Her brother Gloss just stares at Madge's swollen middle for a moment before quickly chasing after his sister.

Finnick's lips twitch up at the edges and his eyes twinkle warmly.

"How did I miss that?"

Relief that he isn't mad at her for hiding it, and at using it to gain favor, floods Madge's system and she gives him a watery smile.

"I've been very careful."

"Obviously," he chuckles.

Glancing around him, Madge hopes to see Anton, maybe get the chance to explain to him why Birdy hasn't told him, but he's nowhere to be seen.

"He already left," Finnick answers her unasked question. He shrugs. "Don't worry. He knows how these things work. I think he just thought he was getting somewhere with her finally."

Madge just nods, guilt at having dashed a friend's hope so horribly churning her stomach.

Glancing at his watch, Finnick sighs.

"And away I go." He forces one of his winning smiles. "Lots of ground to cover now that you've sprinted out of the gates."

As he passes her, he leans over and kisses her cheek.

"You're very lucky, maybe we can all be lucky someday."

Then Finnick is gone, around the corner leaving only fragrant air and the gleam of expensive jewelry he hates in his wake.

Mr. Abernathy grumbles again, then guides Madge into the elevator.

They pass the floors at a dizzying speed, Madge's stomach flops and her head spins, and she suddenly wishes she'd drank more of the water in the car.

When the doors open she wants to bolt out and to the sink, get a drink and stop the spinning, but before she's even halfway out the door sharp nails are digging into her shoulders and she's pulled sideways.

"Oh it's just so very, very exciting!" Ms. Trinket screeches. "My little Madge going to be a mommy!"

Her wig is askew, one of the set of her false eyelashes have fallen off and affixed itself to her cheek, and her dress, an awful bubblegum pink with frills in unfortunate places and sequins everywhere, has cocktail sauce splattered down the front.

She also absolutely reeks of alcohol.

"I've been waiting for you to come home so I could congrad-con-tell you how very, very happy I am!" Her glossy eyes try and fail to focus on Madge as she leans in, too close, her harsh breath making Madge's dizziness worse. "You've made me so proud! I'm going to be the most popular Escort. I might even get a promotion, or a raise!"

Mr. Abernathy roughly shoves her off Madge, his teeth cracking as he glares.

"This is nothing to do with you!" He snaps.

"Mr. Abernathy…" Madge tries to warn him off fighting with Ms. Trinket, but he's already grabbed her wig and tossed it down the hall, earning a shrill shriek.

"You are a horrible bastard of a man!" Ms. Trinket screams, grabbing her wig and forcing it back on her head crookedly. Her tone softens. "Madge, I'll see you in the morning."

She teeters dangerously for a second, then steps into the elevator, disappearing when the doors snap shut, her expression still disgusted.

"You shouldn't fight with her," Madge tells him again, though she can't keep the relief at having Ms. Trinket's smell and voice away from her out of her tone.

"Maybe Birdy'll drop a house on her when she comes back with the boy," he says, a little too cheerfully. "Or maybe she'll get hit by a car. I'm not picky."

"She's going to die of embarrassment if any of those reporters get pictures of her looking like that," Madge points out.

"We can only hope."

It's not funny, Ms. Trinket has always been supportive of Madge, annoyingly so at times, but she isn't malicious. Still, her enthusiasm for the Games, the way she brushes off the lives of the children that have died while she's been a District Escort as trivial and failures, grated on Madge's nerves.

She may not be the problem, but she's certainly a part of it.

Deciding now is not the time for debating Ms. Trinket's worth and liability, Madge presses her fingers to her temples and walks to the kitchen for her water.

"We should see how it played on screen," Madge tells Mr. Abernathy as she heads to the living area.

She stops at the entryway, glass clutched in hand, when she spots who's still up.

Rory has changed out of his smoldering outfit, but his eyes still burn.

"You said you were going to help Charity."

It's an accusation and a question, and he looks close to tears as he waits for Madge to defend herself.

There can't be any defense, not now, so close to the reveal, not in the Training Center, which is buzzing with listening devices at the moment. Snow is waiting for her to slip up, reveal if she's more clever than she's allowed him to believe, or if she's simply a lucky girl trying desperately to save a boy that's as good as a brother to her. One is pathetic and the other a danger, and he has to believe it's the former and not the latter.

"Rory…"

"Just go to your room, kid," Mr. Abernathy tells him, running a hand over his face and sighing. "It's not the time."

"Well I don't exactly got all the time in the world, in case you didn't know," Rory snarls. "So maybe you could stop being so damn secretive and tell me what's going on."

"You don't get to make the calls here," Mr. Abernathy snaps, warning thick in his voice. "Now go to your room."

Rory's eyes narrow and he grinds his teeth. "Maybe Madge lets you treat her like you're her dad since you've got a boner for her mom and all, but I don't have to."

Madge feels Mr. Abernathy tense next to her, then he's gone, across the room, hand gripping the front of Rory's shirt and lifting him up.

"Either you go to your room or I put you there," he growls, so low Madge just barely heard it.

Shoving him and off, Rory's heels hit the ground and he stumbles back.

He shoots Madge a look, furious and disappointed, before rushing off to the rooms.

Madge just stands, staring blankly at the hall Rory had disappeared down, her chest tight and head pounding.

He'll understand, she thinks to herself, he'll understand once it's all said and done.

That doesn't make the here and now any easier though.

Her knees give way and she drops to the ground, sobs wracking her body as Mr. Abernathy rushes over to her and pulls her into a hug.

"Gonna be okay, Pearl," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her hair before resting his cheek against her head. "It's gonna be okay."

Madge smears tears across her face, glitter rubbing off on the back of her hand, and nods.

She hopes it is.

#######

Gale has only just drifted into a restless sleep when the bedroom door flies open.

At first he ignores it, thinking maybe Posy had a nightmare and is about to climb into bed with him, but then someone grabs his threadbare blanket and yanks it away.

"Oh thank god, I kinda expected you to sleep in the nude," a grating voice says.

Rolling over, Gale blinks, thinking he's trapped in a nightmare of his own.

Alameda, green hair and lipstick and dress, head tilted and nose wrinkled up, is looking down at him.

"Ugh." She walks away, to the battered dresser in the corner, opens it, then begins pulling clothing out. "Not Dorothy's, not Dorothy's, not Dorothy's…"

After she's emptied the top drawer and started to open the second, Rory's, Gale's mind clears and he gets out of bed, stomps over and slams the drawer, nearly smashing her fingers as he does.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

She grins up at him. "Trying to make you decent for mixed company." Her eyes roll and she tosses Vick, who's now edging off his bed, an irritable look. "Is he always so dense?"

Vick doesn't answer, just tumbled off the side of his bed.

Blocking the dresser, Gale crosses his arms and glares down at her.

"Why?"

The Games haven't started, and even if they want an interview with the dad of the Diamond Girl's baby, they're going to have to wait. He'll play their stupid game, but not in the middle of the night.

Alameda makes a frustrated noise, closes her eyes, before squinting up at him.

"You've just been outted on national television for having given one of the Capitol's favorite daughter's a very unfortunate std, that's why I'm here."

"If they want to talk they can wait until morning," he tells her, widening his stance. He won't be bullied by her.

Her eyebrows rise. "Well of course they'll wait until morning, even in a hovercraft it takes a few hours to get to the Capitol. Mr. Templesmith and Mr. Flickerman plan for you and Madge to be on for the am broadcast."

For a minute she may as well have been speaking in tongues. Gale doesn't register a single word she's said. Then he blinks, pulled back into the moment by Alameda tugging at the drawer again.

"Honestly, I'm not taking you in your underwe-"

"I'm going to meet Flickerman and Templesmith? In person?"

Her green lips stretch into a wicked grin as she taps the end of her nose.

"That's right, Dorothy, we're going to Oz."


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: As always, thanks to Nursekelly for the help.

Gale stays quiet, too stunned with processing what she's said to even stop her opening the drawer and pulling out a pair of Rory's school pants.

She shoves them into his chest.

"Pants on, D."

Sidestepping him, she wiggles around the beds and by the time Gale comes to his senses, she's already in the living room.

He glances at the still bewildered Vick before chasing after her.

She's at the kitchen table, little round compact held over her head, apparently inspecting her hair. When she spots Gale, she huffs.

"Seriously, I'm not dressing you." She mines putting on pants, speaks very slowly. "One leg at a time."

Before Gale can snap that he damn well knows how to put on pants, his mom's bedroom door creaks open and she and Posy peak out, eyes doughy with sleep.

"Gale? What's-"

When she sees Alameda, she freezes, expression guarded.

"Why are you here?"

"Gathering up the results of failed condom number one."

Posy's mouth drops. "You're not supposed to talk about that stuff!"

One of Alameda's eyebrows arches up. "Why's that, failed condom number four?"

Rolling her eyes, Posy sighs loudly, then explains loftily, "It's not polite."

"Well," Alameda shrugs, "I'm not polite." She glances back at Gale. "Pants now, Dorothy."

Stepping between her and his mom and sister, Gale grips the pants so tightly in his hands his knuckles turn white.

"You don't get to boss me around in my own home."

"Kinda looks like I am."

Gale knows he shouldn't argue, but she's a nightmare, a living, breathing embodiment of the Capitol, a place that's taken and taken from him, ripped his family up, and it feels good, right, to put up a fight, no matter how futile.

He makes a low noise and starts to tell her to get the hell out, for all the good it'll do, but his mom's hand on his shoulder stops him.

"It's to help Rory, isn't it?"

The compact snaps closed in Alameda's hand and she gives Gale's mom an appraising once over before shrugging.

"Yeah, sure."

They won't get a straight answer from her, but 'sure' is as good as an 'absolutely' for Gale.

Turning, Gale forces a tight smile for his mom before gritting his teeth and looking back at Alameda, nodding. "Fine."

Stomping back into his room, followed closely by Vick, Gale carefully folds Rory's pants and places them back in the drawer before closing it and yanking the bottom drawer open, grabbing a pair of his own, and slamming it shut.

"Don't fight with her, Gale," Vick whispers as Gale digs around under his bed for his dress shirt. He'd tossed it on the ground after the Reaping and hadn't bothered to find it for the wash. He'd had too much else on his mind. "She's crazy."

Gale grunts, his fingers finding the familiar material and pulling it out, shaking dust off it and trying to smooth out the wrinkles. His mom is going to be so embarrassed, but there's nothing to do about it now.

"I'm serious, Gale. She's nuts. Madge talked about her sometimes."

Buttoning up the shirt, Gale steps over the pillows now tossed on the floor, and pulls Vick into a hug, kissing the side of his head. "I'll be fine."

This is for Rory. He'll do whatever he has to.

Vick nods, Gale feels something wet smear on his shoulder, and when he lets Vick go he pretends not to see him wiping his face off.

Taking him by the shoulder, Gale fixes him in a stern gaze.

"You look out for mom and Posy while I'm gone, okay?"

Chin quivering, Gale sees Vick's Adam's apple bob as he swallows before nodding. "I will."

He follows Gale out, and they find Posy glaring at Alameda as the other girl ignores her, instead busying herself with her stupid compact.

"Oh look at that," she says to no one in particular. "They've already started the betting on the baby name." She looks at Gale, no hint of humor. "How do you feel about 'Caspiana'? It's not got many takers, kinda outta fashion, we could make some real money betting on it."

When Gale doesn't answer, just glares, she huffs.

"Fine, pass up a golden opportunity. No wonder you're poor."

She doesn't give him a chance to counter her, just starts heading to the door.

"Time to go."

The door is already open and she's looking at him pointedly before the finality, the reality that he's about to leave Twelve, and his family, for the first time ever, hits him.

His feet get heavy and his chest tight as he tries to walk out, but her can't.

Alameda taps her foot irritably. "I'm not carrying you."

Looking from Vick's pale face to his terrifies mom, now hold Posy close to her, Gale swallows down his fear. He has to go. Rory needs him. Madge and the baby need him. This will help them all, make them whole again, even if it'll be a painful transition.

Grinding his teeth, Gale looks back at Alameda.

"Can I have a minute?"

She tilts her head, nose wrinkled up before glancing between each member of Gale's family then back to him.

"Fine." She holds up a finger. "One minute."

Shoes clicking loudly, she exits, apparently to wait on the porch.

Gale's mom rushes to him, pulling him into a bone crushing hug, tears smearing on his shirt.

"Be careful. Promise me you'll be careful."

Gale nods, but that isn't enough for her, she pulls back and takes his face in her worn hands.

"Say it, Gale. Promise me."

Tears threaten to spill out, but Gale blinks them back. "I promise."

Vick and Posy latch onto him, Vick is sniffing back tears, but Posy is beaming.

"Bring me back something," she tells him. "And don't name the baby 'Caspiana', I don't like it."

It breaks the odd tension that's built in Gale's chest, and he chuckles. She doesn't understand the weight of what's happening, and Gale hopes she never has to.

Giving them both a kiss on the head, Gale lets them go and pulls his mom into another hug.

He doesn't want to go. The little boy in him wants to stay wrapped in his mom's arms, safe and warm and loved, not walk blindly into the jaws of hell with a witch. There isn't a choice though.

Madge has been brave all this time, playing her confusing game and being shuttled back and forth into a strange world. Rory was brave when he volunteered, without hope of coming back. Gale's had to be brave since his dad died, this is just a new kind of bravery.

Kissing her cheek, Gale reluctantly lets her go.

"I love you," he whispers.

She pats his cheek, forcing a smile. "I love you too."

Before she starts crying again and he can't make himself leave, Gale turns and strides out the door, keeping his head up and forcing his face into what he hopes is an unreadable expression.

Alameda taps her watch. "That was more than a minute."

Gale only grunts in reply, brushing past her and down the steps, away from home.

When she strides past him, leading the way to hell in Gale's mind, he glances back at his house.

It's run down and patched, leaky roof and loose boards, but it's home, and he hopes he lives to see it again.

#######

Madge wakes tucked safely in her bed, a few extra pillows around her.

She isn't sure how he got her to her room, Mr. Abernathy must've carried her, and she cringes. His back is going to be killing him, she's much too big for him to be carrying around at this point, not that he'll admit it.

Pushing herself up, Madge crawls out of bed and stumbles to the bathroom.

Her reflection in the mirror is puffy eyed, tangled hair and crumpled dress, so she turns on the water to wash her face.

It doesn't do much good.

Sighing, she turns on the shower. It's going to be a long day of interviews and questions, and she's going to have to look her best, even if she doesn't feel it.

The warm water fills with the fragrance of strawberries and vanilla, and Madge stays under it for the better part of an hour, trying to wash away the feeling of regret and failure that's clinging to her. Refresh her dulled skin and return the shine to the Capitol's Diamond Girl.

It doesn't help.

When she smears the fog from the mirror, she's just as ragged as ever, limp hair and no sparkle in her eyes.

Opening the bathroom door, she's followed by a cloud of sweetly scented heat that causes someone in her room to cough.

"I was beginning to think you'd drowned in there," Portia tells her, purple stained lips tugged up in a smile.

Madge forces a smile and shrugs. "They'd just resuscitate me."

Portia nods. "Especially after last night,"

A wave of nausea hits Madge and she drops into the bed, hand pressed to her mouth.

"Are you-"

"I'm fine," Madge answers, taking a steadying breath and standing.

She isn't, but she won't be until everything is past, and there's nothing anyone can do about that, so worrying over it is pointless.

Giving Portia a falsely cheery grin, Madge waves a hand at the closet. "What am I wearing today?"

For a moment Portia studies her, looking concerned, before sighing and walking to the closed doors.

"This should show off your bump nicely."

After that it's all business.

Portia is efficient, more do without Madge's prep team, all of whom have moved on to private work, dressing and decorating movie and television stars and occasionally reflecting on their time with the Diamond Girl.

Madge wonders, as Portia weaves her hair into an intricate braid piled on her head, if they'll use their former connection to her to snatch up some more attention. It wouldn't surprise her to catch an interview with one of them claiming to have intimate details of the pregnancy on the evening news actually.

While her mind if off, Portia flies through her work.

"They want you on for the breakfast show," she tells Madge. "Effie told me."

Which means, despite being inebriated, Ms. Trinket was able to do her job and survived the night. Mr. Abernathy will be disappointed.

Nodding absently, Madge stands and takes a breath, checking her appearance in the mirror again.

The bleak girl is gone, replaced by someone bright and shiny.

Her skin is smoothed, hair shimmering, eyes painted and red erased. She's what the Capitol expects of her, even if it's nothing more than an illusion. It's what they think she is that matters.

"You should eat before we go," Portia tells her.

The kitchen is deathly quiet when they come in. Both Rory and Charity are sitting at the table, talking in low tones that stop the minute Madge's uncomfortable heels click into the room.

Rory still looks furious, eyebrows pulled together in a scowl and eyes narrowed and focused on his plate of toast and fruit. He doesn't even grumble a cold hello to Madge before roughly getting up and stomping back to his room. Probably to get ready for his first day of training.

Charity stays seated, her expression grim as she picks at a slice of pineapple.

Portia seems on the verge of saying something, breaking the awkward silence that's filled the room, but the tiny disk like communicator she carries in her pocket chirps and she flashes a quick smile before ducking out, back into the hall.

Chewing her lip, Madge tries to force the apology hanging in her tongue out for Charity, but it won't budge, just stays stubbornly stuck in her mouth.

Finally, Charity slumps back in her chair, glances up warily at Madge and gives her a tiny smile.

"Congrats."

Tears begin springing up in Madge's eyes, but she keeps them blinked back. She doesn't deserve to cry.

"Thank you."

Charity nods, picks up another slice of fruit and chews it quietly before looking back up.

"It's okay," she half whispers, her tiny voice barely reaching Madge on the other side of the room. "Rory's upset, but I understand. He's family. You have to protect family."

She keeps her gray eyes on the ground, her entire body drooping as she slides from the chair.

"I gotta go. Effie said we have to be downstairs soon."

There's such defeat in her eyes, the way she moves, that Madge fights the urge to grab her and pull her into a crushing hug, explain everything to her.

It isn't an option, at least not in Madge's eyes. She doesn't want to put her at risk of slipping and saying something, jeopardizing the entire plan. It might be doomed, but Madge can't bring herself to put it at any more risk than it already is, not when so much is on the line.

Instead, she turns and watches Charity's defeated form cross into the hall.

"Charity," Madge says before she can stop herself, "stick with Rory."

It isn't much help, not really, but it's good advice. Rory will keep her from getting picked on by the kids from Two, who have been notorious bullies the last few years.

Madge wishes she could offer more, but for the moment, it's all she's got.

For a second Charity just stares at her, frowning and confused, then she nods before continuing down the hall.

Even though Madge knows it's impossible, she hopes Charity could hear the promise still in her voice. She's doing just what she'd told her she would do when they'd been waiting for the chariot parade. She's working to get her home.

No matter what Rory thinks.

Sighing, Madge picks up a banana and heads toward where Portia had gone on her communicator.

Portia is no longer on her communicator but is instead chatting quietly with Mr. Abernathy.

While Portia seems at ease, Mr. Abernathy looks even grumpier than normal.

"I'm coming with you," he tells Madge the minute he spots her. Which explains his sour mood. He hates talk shows with a burning passion and the subject of the one he's about to attend isn't likely to improve his opinion of them. "You need more to eat than that."

Grumbling, he stomps off toward the kitchen, presumably to get Madge a more satisfactory breakfast.

Exchanging a weak smile with Portia, Madge waits patiently until he reappears, bottle of water and pastry in hand.

He forces them into Madge's hands and steers her toward the elevator.

"I'm warning you, Pearl, if they start asking for any," he makes a face, "intimate details, keep it clean. I've got delicate sensibilities."

Madge snorts. "I'll try to keep it clean for you."

But in reality, she'll have no control over the content of this interview, and the Capitol is always hungry for a story, the raunchier the better.

"Where's Effie?" Portia asks, glancing around. "Isn't she coming?"

"Still asleep," Mr. Abernathy answers, smiling. "Her alarm got turned off somehow."

Madge doesn't ask him how he knows that, she has a pretty good idea. He's had the avoxes turn Ms. Trinket's alarm off in the past, and considering where they're going, she suspects he's done it again. Leaving her behind is one of his favorite pastimes.

"Let's get going before she wakes up and makes us late."

He doesn't care about being late, but abandoning Ms. Trinket is a definite perk and it brightens his demeanor immensely.

His cheerfulness last all the way down to the front hall, until they spot the crush of reporters, still camped in front of the building.

There are ten times as many as there normally are, probably owing to Madge's good news.

They're already doing morning reports, crushed together and elbowing one another out of the way as they fight for better position.

When they spot Madge coming, any semblance of cordiality, however minor, vanishes and they begin crawling all over each other, trying to get the best view.

Through the window Madge sees someone's nose get busted, an arm get twisted, and an ankle turned so badly Madge is sure it's broken before its owner is trampled, as the reporters jockey for position, shoving cameras and microphones to the door Madge will come out from.

Mr. Abernathy groans.

"Great."

He wraps a protective arm around Madge as they move toward the door.

"Keep your head down kid," he warns her.

The second the doors open, the noise almost overwhelms Madge.

It isn't a buzz, but screams, shouts, demands all directed at her as Mr. Abernathy and a Peacekeeper shove through the crush.

It takes nearly twenty minutes, and the Peacekeeper has to threaten several aggressive camera people with his gun a few times, but they finally make it to the car.

"They're so rude," Portia mutters as she tries to adjust Madge's hair, now a little askew from being grabbed at.

When they try to pull out, several reporters fling themselves at the car. At the windows and then across the hood, but the avox driving doesn't seem to notice. They pull into the main road with a female reporter still lying across the windshield, shouting questions at the soundproof glass.

The avox turns on the windshield wipers and after a mile of getting thwapped in the face, the reporter slides off.

It would be funny, if it weren't also a little frightening. Madge wraps her arms protectively over her middle, wondering to what lengths the reporters would go to for a story.

They're chased by more reporters driving motorcycles and in large boxy vehicles with satellites affixed to them all the way to the studio where they're able to leave them behind at the underground, private, parking garage.

"What a bunch of assholes," Mr. Abernathy mumbles as they continue to shout even as the doors on the garage close.

Closing her eyes, Madge gathers her thoughts and tries to slow her heart before getting out of the car.

"Eat," Mr. Abernathy prompts her, pushing the pastry still clutched in her hand up to her mouth. "Long day ahead of us, kiddo."

Madge nods.

It really will be.

#######

Gale shifts uncomfortably on the too soft bed in the back of the hovercraft.

He hates the feeling of moving combined with not being able to see, but Alameda had refused to let him up front.

"You'll just cause trouble and ask question," she'd said. "Go back there and go to sleep. You'll thank me later."

Apparently sleep would be a precious commodity once he got to the Capitol, but he still doubts he'll thank her.

Instead of sleeping, Gale paces the floor, already worried about his mom and the kids. He's never been this far from home before.

He's never been away from home before.

For the first time he's acutely aware of just how terrified the Tributes must be when they're taken away, how frightened Madge and Rory must've been, being shuttled so far from home, not sure if they'd ever return.

Just as suddenly as it had started, risen silently into the air and begin the journey, Gale feels the shift slow and descend, dropping through the sky to its destination.

They've reached the Capitol.

Stomach doing a strange flop, maybe from the flight and maybe from the sense of doom swelling in his chest, Gale turn story he door and waits for it to open. Alameda will be coming any minute now. He knows she will.

Several minutes tick by before Gale finally hears the telltale click of heels on the metallic floor.

She seems to stop in front of the door, taps her foot a few times and sighs, then finally the door swishes quietly open.

Her clothes are different, no longer deep green but a silky, shimmering black. Her lips are a black too. Even her mossy baby doll curls are gone, replaced by stick straight curtains of ebony hair.

Gale almost asks her why she's done such a dramatic transformation, but then realizes he doesn't care.

She smirks, tosses her hair over her shoulder, then waves to the door.

"It's showtime, Dorothy." She tilts her head. "Hope you're ready to play."

#######

Alameda opens an umbrella when they get to the exit for the hovercraft.

"Is it raining?" Gale asks, certain he hasn't heard the clatter of rain on the hovercraft and wondering how thick the walls really are.

She shakes her head, dark hair shimmering as she does.

"There are hovercrafts circling. They aren't supposed to get in the studio's airspace, it's been given restricted access privileges, but some of these reporters don't care. The fine and the jail time don't outweigh the fame of getting the shot."

When Gale still stares at her in confusion, she huffs.

"You, Dorothy, in all your scruffy, smelly glory. They want the first shot of the Diamond dick in the Capitol, especially since they haven't got access to your school and work records. They're dying for a look at you, and this studio has paid for the privilege of giving everyone that look."

It's ridiculous to Gale, that the Capitol's news is consumed with seeing him, but then, he supposes, jackasses that think children being forced to kill each other is entertainment don't have to make sense.

Gesturing for him to get under the umbrella with her, Alameda waits until Gale is crouched down and standing uncomfortably close to her before twisting the handle in her hands. The second she does, Gale watches as a dark shade seems to descend from the edges of the umbrella, enclosing them in a semi darkness.

He barely had time to wonder at it before she's shoving him toward the still closed exit.

When he starts to protest, a sliver of light appears at the opening seam and slowly grows until the cold blue if the Capitol's sky is fully visible.

She half drags him down the ramp, onto what Gale soon realizes is a very windy rooftop. Despite the rough winds, the veil doesn't so much as flutter, though Gale and Alameda's clothes both whip around their legs as they struggle toward an open door several yards away.

As they walk, pushed back by the wind, Gale glances around and spots dozens of small hovercrafts, not even half the size of the one they'd just landed in, buzzing around the building, lights flashing from the windows.

He opens his mouth to ask if they can't see through the veil, but Alameda gives him one final shove, into the building, the chilly blue vanishing which a snap of the door.

Inside it's warmer, quieter, though not silent. There's a humming noise that seems to come from the floor, vibrating around him. It's dark too, though that may just be due to his eyes being used to the right of the sun.

"Come on," Alameda tells him, waving for him to follow her through the muted dark.

They travel at a downward slope, past what looks like storage closets, black and locked, slowly getting brighter and the noise increasing with each step.

"They didn't get our exact arrival time, we didn't want a bunch of idiots all hanging around the pad trying to get a look," she tells him, her pace not slowing.

They finally reach the bottom of the slope, a long, beige hall filled with brightly colored people all running around yelling things to one another. They don't even give Alameda or Gale so much as a half glance.

It seems like chaos to Gale, and he wonders how they keep from running headlong into each other.

Tugging at his sleeve, Alameda keeps Gale close to the wall as they go right for several yards, stopping when they get to a closed door with the words 'Dmnd Grl' written in glittery letters stamped across it.

Not even knocking, Alameda cracks it open.

Gale frowns. "Is Madg-"

Alameda doesn't let him finish, grabs him by the front of his shirt and almost throws him through the small crack.

"Gale!"

Stumbling over his own confused feet, Gale finds himself on his back, air knocked out of his chest, being calmed by a pair of chilly hands.

Madge is dressed in a shimmering dress, painted up features and carefully arranged hair, her expression anxious as she holds Gale's hands.

"Gale are you okay?" She's panicked as she looks around. "Birdy, did you drug him?"

"Sadly, no."

Gale finally gets his senses back and catches his breath, gasping as he squeezes Madge's hands.

"Fine," he rasps. "Just winded."

Madge nods, lip between her teeth, chewing it as she sits uncertainly next to him.

Reaching out, Gale brushes his hand across her cheek, memorizing the softness and the warmth of her skin, hoping his rough palms are half the comfort to her as her softness is to him.

It's only been a few days, but it feels like so much longer since he's seen her. Even under layers of Capitol witchery and wearing gaudy clothes, she's beautiful.

Tears spring up in her eyes.

"Gale…" The tears spill out as she blinks. "I'm so sorry."

Forcing himself up, Gale reaches out tries to pull her to him, but she shrinks away.

"I never meant for this to happen, but it was the only way," she sobs, struggling to her feet. "I couldn't just let them take him."

Gale nods, quickly pushing himself up and trailing after her as she paces, wringing her hands.

He catches her as she begins to make a turn, pace back the opposite direction.

"I understand," he whispers.

It's not an ideal situation, but her being pregnant isn't an ideal situation either.

"It was going to come out. It's just happening sooner than later," he adds, hoping it eases her conscience.

Worry still hovers in her eyes, and Gale gets the horrible sensation there's more to her apology than he realizes. It's not the time for explanations though.

Hands dropping to her belly, now prominently displayed, Gale grins, hoping to distract her for a minute.

"I feel like you've gotten bigger."

She chuckles. "It's all in the appearance. Portia wanted to make me more sympathetic by make the pregnancy more noticeable."

"She did a good job." Gale grins, letting himself forget the seriousness of the situation for a moment. "You're gorgeous no matter how you're dolled up."

A soft blush blossoms across her cheeks, down her chest and vanishing into the dangerously low front of the dress.

Her lips part to say something, but she's cut off by someone gagging in front of the enormous lighted mirror.

"God, and you let him knock you up?"

Alameda looks positively revolted.

"Why are you still here?" Gale snaps, eyes narrowed on her. "Don't you have someone else to annoy?"

She shrugs. "Not at the moment."

As he's figuring out just what to say to make her go away, there has to be something, the door opens and in steps another person Gale could do without seeing. Ever again if he was lucky.

Haymitch is balancing a tray of pastries on one hand and has several bottles of water clutched to his chest with the others, looking downright cheerful as kicks the door shut behind him.

"Effie is stuck in traffic. She's gonna miss the whole-" his expression sours when he sees Gale. "Oh, so you made it."

"Don't look so happy about it," Gale tells him.

Haymitch shrugs. "Ah well, it was too much to hope we'd be able to ditch Effie and you."

He drops the food and water onto the vanity where Alameda is sitting, swatting at her hand when she tries to swipe one of the cream filled pastries.

"Those are for Madge."

"She can't eat all that," she says. "It'll make her sick."

They seem to be about to argue, but Madge cuts them off.

"If you're going to fight you can both leave," she tells them.

They both quiet, though Gale does see Haymitch slap Alameda's hand away from the tray a few more times when Madge turns her back on them.

Focusing on Gale, Madge takes his hand and leads him to a fluffy couch settled against the back wall.

"I need to explain-well I need to try to explain a lot, before we get interviewed." She chews her lip again, her hand wrapped around the pendant at her neck and glancing at Alameda.

Pulling out her compact, Alameda inspects her appearance for a minute, and Gale bites back the urge to tell her to pay attention.

After a few seconds, she snaps it shut and nods at Madge. "Good to go. This place has too much interference anyways."

Gale feels like he's missing something, but before he can ask what she's talking about, Madge squeezes his hand.

"Just...listen before you say anything." Her body tenses and she watches him warily. "Please."

Certain he's not going to like what he's about to hear, Gale nods.

Whatever it is, it's going to help Rory, and he doesn't have much choice but to follow her lead.

This is her game after all, and he's got very little time to learn to play it.

#######

It only takes ten minutes for Madge to explain the plan to Gale.

Repeating it aloud only serves to highlight just how pitiful it is, and Madge struggles to keep her expression neutral as she speaks, stumbling over her own words, her tongue refusing to cooperate.

To his credit, Gale doesn't cringe or even grunt, just keeps his eyes on her, absorbing every word.

She knows he has to be furious, simmering under the blank exterior he's putting up. Madge is taking risks, putting their baby and their families at risk, but he doesn't let it show, even when Madge tells him how very fragile the plan is.

"I know it's not perfect, or safe…"

...but considering the 'safe' option has gotten the Districts seventy-seven years of being abused by the Capitol, their children stolen and used in a bloody game, it's the better option.

She gnaws at her bottom lip, tasting copper, as she waits for him to speak.

Finally, Mr. Abernathy slurps loudly on his coffee, breaking the odd tension that's built in the room.

Gale looks around the room, a horrible powder pink with overwhelmingly fragrant lilies tucked in every conceivable nook and cranny, and sighs.

"It's rough-" Madge cringes, "-but it's better than sitting on our asses."

For a second she doesn't register what he's said, then it hits her.

Before she can stop herself, tears are spilling down her cheeks and onto her dress, sobs wracking her body as she slouches into the too soft couch, relief that Gale not only doesn't hate her for putting so much on the line, but is willing, maybe even enthusiastic, about her plan.

She hears her name, feels rough hands pull her into strong arms, smells the clean scent of detergent as Gale holds her, trying to comfort her.

His lips press into her stuff hair and the scruff of his chin brushes her neck as he kisses down it, whispering empty comforts to her as he does.

Several minutes tick by before Birdy makes another disgusted noise.

"Much as I'm sure the two of you'd like to jump each other's bones,you're on in half an hour, and Portia is gonna need every minute of that to make Dorothy not break the cameras."

Gale makes a harsh noise, but Mr. Abernathy's chuckles cut him off.

"I knew there was a reason I liked you."

Getting up, Mr. Abernathy groans, still chuckling to himself.

Much as she'd like to stay wrapped in his warmth, pretending none of the awfulness is happening around them for just a little while longer, Birdy is actually, sort of, right. Portia will need to make Gale Capitol ready, and even as handsome as he is, that's going to take time.

Giving Gale a tight smile, hoping he understands this is all part of the game and there's no way around it, Madge turns to Birdy.

"Alright, call Portia."

Birdy nods and begins digging in her purse, pulling out a disk and running her finger along the side.

"Portia, we're ready for you." She grins, eyes twinkling mischievously. "Bring your A game, you've got your work cut out for you."

#######

Despite himself, Gale likes Portia.

Maybe it's years of hearing Madge praise her for her ability to protect her modesty while still appeasing the Capitol or the calming timbre of her voice, but either way, Gale knows he's safe with her directing his new appearance.

She leaves some of his whiskers, telling him, "It's fashionable and makes you seem dangerous."

Which will apparently excite the starving masses.

His hair get washed and dried, combed and molded into what he's told is a very stylish, messy look, while his eyebrows are trimmed and plucked, much to his annoyance.

Overall, his general appearance isn't much affected; he isn't painted and sculpted like Madge is.

"You have a very nice canvas for me to start with," Portia tells him.

"Then why do you do all that crap to Madge? She's gorgeous," Gale grumbles, face stinging from the brutal eyebrow plucking.

Portia smiles softly, taking Gale's chin in her hand. "She's a girl. There are...different expectations."

Unrealistic expectations, in Gale's opinion, but he bites his tongue about that.

She gestures for him to follow her into the back of the room, to where she has hundreds of images of outfits on a lighted wall.

"I only had Madge's description of you to go on," she explains as she waves her hand, sending one of the outfits flying almost magically up, vanishing into the ceiling. "That one won't work well on screen, not with your coloring."

With another wave of her hand a few dozen more zoom away.

Glancing at Gale, she squints, makes complicated gestures at the wall for several more minutes, until only one set of clothes is left.

It's simple enough. Dark pants, heavy looking boots, and a light colored shirt that seems to shimmer like Madge's dress.

"And here's our winner." She smiles. "This one."

At the sound of her voice the wall splits and the clothes are pushed out. Portia snatches them off the hanger and hands them to Gale.

"Birdy assures me you know how to dress yourself."

Gale rolls his eyes. "Right."

Her lips twitch and she pats him on the shoulder.

"Put your armor on."

A few minutes later, after having a battle with a very strange boot buckle, he emerges from the closet for Portia's inspection.

"Good?"

She laughs. "Good? Perfection is all I accept."

Linking her arm in his, she leads him to the door, pausing before opening it to brush a strand of wayward hair from his face.

Madge tumbles in the second the door slides open, landing face first in Gale's chest.

He chuckles as he rights her. "Eager?"

Her cheeks flush and she pretends to smooth out her dress for a few seconds before glancing up. Mouth dropping open, Madge's color deepens even more as her eyes scan over Gale's new appearance. "You-you look great!"

She reaches out, hand shaking, and smoothes the front of Gale's new shirt, the coolness of her fingers seeping through the strange material and sending a shiver up his back.

Haymitch makes a gagging noise from his seat on the fluffy couch. "He's passable."

Alameda laughs. "It's okay Portia, we couldn't expect miracles."

Gale starts to snap at them, but stops when he spots the soft look on Madge's face.

His curiosity about her thoughts beats out his desire to shut up the peanut gallery.

Seeing Gale, dressed in Capitol finery, standing in the middle of her frilly dressing room, seems to calm her. Slowly, her hand steadies and the tension eases out of her stance. She looks almost calm, for the first time in ages, since before the baby, maybe even calmer than she had since before she'd been Reaped all those years ago.

She plucks at the button on Gale's shirt, finger tracing up before adjusting his collar.

Focusing on him, blue eyes free of tears and fear, a small smile forms on her lips.

"This is gonna work," she says, more to herself than him. "This is gonna work."

Gale feels a smile find its way onto his own face.

"Yeah," he agrees. "It's gonna work."

It has to.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: Like always, thanks to Nursekelly for putting up with me and my madness.

The studio takes their right to have the first shot of Gale very seriously.

They usher out every 'nonessential' employee, relying on the bones of the crew to film the interview and the audience is safely tucked behind a blinding, soundproof curtain. They won't see or hear anything until they're supposed to. There will be no leaked photos on their watch.

Caesar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith are already seated, chatting loudly and happily about the ride over. Apparently their driver had been less cautious than Madge's, and had hit several news vans trying to piggyback in with them. The pair seem to find that positively hysterical.

It's odd that Mr. Templesmith is there, but Madge supposes he is the voice of the Games every bit as much as Mr. Flickerman is the face. President Snow probably wants him there to remind people of the real reason Madge had been forced into her announcement. Two figureheads are better than one.

Much as she likes them both, they've always been kind to her, she knows they'll have been given an agenda. They'll want to entertain the public and help dig up dirt for the president.

It's brilliant really. She won't be able to worm her way out of answering them, not on live television. It's a tricky situation, purposely so.

Beside Madge, Gale fidgets, pulling at the cuffs of his shirt. If Portia hadn't spritzed him with makeup stay-spay, preventing nervous sweat from even forming on his face, he'd be drenched.

Madge waves a hand at her face, trying to cool herself, wishing the lights weren't so bright and that the patented antiperspirant clothing, specially made to keep pit stains from marring the Capitol airwaves, was less stifling. She's getting a little dizzy, despite the numberless bottles of water Mr. Abernathy has forced on her.

When Gale begins tugging at his collar, threatening to pop a button, Madge grabs his hand and gives it a squeeze, hoping to calm his nerves. His presence alone has settled her insides, cleared her mind.

"Just let Madgie do most of the talking," Birdy ordered him as they'd prepared for the interview. "Deflect questions to her."

"This would be easier if we just said he was a mute." Mr. Abernathy mumbled. His eyes lit up. "Or we could make him a mute…"

"Are you suggesting we cut his tongue out?" Birdy asked. Her nose wrinkled in thought. "Actually, that's not a bad-"

"We are not cutting Gale's tongue out!"

Rolling her eyes and exchanging an exasperated look with Mr. Abernathy, Birdy carries on.

"Don't let them trip you up. Don't talk about your family, except the boy. Talk about Roy-"

"Rory!" Gale snapped.

She waved a hand. "Whatever. Talk about him all you want. They expect it, but know they're mostly going to be interested in the baby and your relationship."

He'd looked ready to strangle her, but had managed a terse nod anyways.

Now Mr. Abernathy is standing across the room, glaring darkly at Mr. Flickerman and Mr. Templesmith as they build toward calling Madge and Gale onto the set and Birdy has vanished into the shadows. The Capitol's eyes are all on Madge, it's the perfect opportunity to begin setting the plan in motion.

There are people to persuade, the other Victors to warn and recruit, tests to run on the information they already have…

It's a massive amount of footwork for one person, but Birdy's enthusiasm seems to have given her wings. She'd even shouting colorfully at a few brave souls who'd tried to peek in before she'd left.

She'll start by recruiting the other Victors. Ten, Eleven, Three, Five, Eight, and Nine are guarantees, and Twelve too. There are several from Four that will hold out, mostly older Victors. One will be unreliable; they've decided not to even bother with them or Two, and Six...it might go smoother without them.

Seven is another kind of mess, one Birdy refuses to even broach.

"I've got enough troubles without those lunatics," she'd muttered.

Madge decides asking Seven to join their alliance will be up to her after that.

Getting help will spread the work, but it'll also increase the likelihood for slip ups.

"You can trust all these people?" Gale had asked as they'd discussed the plan, after he'd been pressed and dressed for the interview.

"As far as I can throw them," Birdy answered. "But we haven't got much choice."

She'd gone after that, much to Gale's apparent relief.

The heat from the lights begins to give her a headache, and she leans into Gale.

He doesn't smell like detergent, like himself, like home, but Capitol cologne and shampoo. The change makes her headache intensify.

Music starts playing, stage directors shout orders, the lights are refocused, and the hosts are given one last touch up before the makeup artists scatter and the countdown begins.

Mr. Flickerman and Mr. Templesmith both freeze in place, smiles stiff and unnatural, the curtains open, the crowd starts screaming drowning out the music, and they begin to talk.

"As most of you've heard, there's going to be a new celebrity born soon, and of course, we have the exclusive first post-baby announcement interview with our little Magdalene!"

Mr. Templesmith grins broadly. "I'm sure it will prove to be a truly exciting interview!"

Madge's insides lurch. She isn't sure how she's going to make talking about pregnancy exciting. Mostly it's been peeing a lot, eating extra food, and sensitivity to smells.

It all seems pretty mundane to her.

Mentally she slaps herself. They won't want a list of her ailments and how she's holding up. They'll want details on how she got with Gale, nursery updates, name choices, how she plans on losing the baby weight, frivolous things in the long run.

It's what they'll want though, so it's what they'll get.

Minutes pass as the two men discuss upcoming events, clearly milking the audience's anticipation for all its worth. People moan and shout, plead and chant for Madge to take the stage.

Finally, once they're certain the viewers are good and salivating too, tired of hearing about near misses, and actual wrecks their driver had caused on the way over, Mr. Flickerman claps his hands together loudly.

Madge doesn't hear him announce her over the whaling, just keeps her eyes on the stage manager directing her to come out, trying to focus on her breathing and not letting Gale's presence distract her from what she has to do.

Letting go of Gale's hand, she makes her way onto the brightly lit stage.

Smiling and waving at the now howling studio audience, Madge almost misses Mr. Flickerman getting up to pull her into a hug.

"You look stunning," he whispers to her before pulling back and gesturing theatrically at her and her belly. "And here's the lady of the hour! Our Diamond Girl!"

Giving him a gracious smile, Madge lets him direct her to the overly stuffed love seat across from him and Mr. Templesmith.

It takes several minutes, and Mr. Flickerman wagging a warning finger and flashing a painfully wide smile at them, before they quiet enough for anyone to even talk.

"Well now, Magdalene, you've been a busy young lady, haven't you?"

The audience breaks into laughter and hoots of delight.

Cringing, Madge feigns a laugh and rests her hands on her stomach, hoping the makeup hides the blush she feels forming in her cheeks. "Oh, I suppose so."

Reaching out, Mr. Flickerman pats her middle, jokingly pretending the baby kicks him before sitting back in his seat.

"Now, my dear Magdalene, when were you planning on telling us about this little bundle of joy? When it was coming out?"

Madge pretends to laugh and swats at him.

"Ceasar, don't be silly." She gives the camera a brilliant smile. "I just didn't want to take anything away from this special time of year. With Rory volunteering though, I just couldn't keep the good news to myself. I'd never forgive myself for keeping such a special moment with my family in Twelve from my family in the Capitol."

That sends the crowd over the top. They scream and cry, the sobs echoing across the studio.

She considers the family, and that's too much for them to contain.

It goes on for several minutes, not even the combines shushing of Mr. Flickerman and Mr. Templesmith quiet them. They don't calm until one of the stage managers finally holds up a sign with a warning on it, threatening to close the curtains again. That kills the frenzy, though several people still hiccup loudly, chins wobbling with emotion.

Mr. Templesmith, who looks a little annoyed at the interruption, forces a smile and picks up where Mr. Flickerman left off.

"How far along are you? And do we know if it'll be another diamond girl?"

Madge isn't sure which would be worse, a son or a daughter in the hands of the Capitol.

Neither would walk away unscathed. That's why her plan has to work, why she has to smile even though it hurts, lie and create the reality they want to believe. It's the only way to save her baby and Rory.

Smile widening, she pats the swell of her belly.

"About six months." She wags a finger at him. "But we aren't finding out if it'll be a boy or a girl. It'll be a nice little surprise."

And Madge had decided she didn't want the Capitol taking a look in her uterus. They have too much of her exterior, she doesn't want them looking inside her too. The pictures would we everywhere in a matter of minutes.

"That's a pity," Mr. Flickerman says, shaking his head sadly. His expression brightens. "But that just mean more for the betting!"

The screams begin again, but die out quicker this time thanks to the angry glares of the stage managers.

Leaning in, seemingly trying to have a private conversation, Mr. Flickerman speaks loudly to Madge.

"Is it true you've brought the young man that's snagged your heart with you today?"

Face burning, Madge forces herself to giggle and leans in, nodding. All part of the show.

Sitting back, he turns to the crowd, now in a humming silence, hungry for the next treat.

"Well we'd like to meet this man, wouldn't we?"

The crowd roars in the affirmative.

It's the time they've been waiting for, the time Madge has known was coming since she'd decided to have the baby, since she'd announced she was pregnant. Gale has to make his big Capitol debut.

Face aching from smiling, Madge pretends to contemplate her decision, finger tapping her nose, as the crowd holds its breath.

"Well…" She grins. "I suppose I can share him for a minute."

Even though she'd rather not.

Turning back toward the side of the stage, where Gale is hidden in the shadows, Madge beckons him with a wave of her hand.

There's no turning back now.

#######

Gale doesn't hear a word of Madge's interview, he's too busy grinding his teeth.

When Flickerman touches Madge's stomach, his hand lingering for far too long in Gale's opinion, it takes every ounce of self-control he has not to stomp onto the stage and shove him off. Madge isn't an object for him to fondle when he feels like it.

The only people who get to touch her are the ones she picks, and the idiot host would never make that list.

If Gale had it his way, he'd be the only one allowed to put his hands on her.

He tries to shake the thought away. It sounds possessive and controlling, two things he never wants to be, especially with Madge, she's had enough of that in her life. Still, he doesn't like it.

It isn't until he sees Madge smiling at him, the first genuine smile she's had since walking on the stage, waving for him to join her, that he even hears the ear splitting screams from the crowd.

The sound is deafening, Gale has to fight the urge to wince as he makes his way to Madge.

She stands when he reaches her, smile tense, and pulls him into a hug.

"Just keep smiling," she whispers in his ear before falling back on her heels.

The crowd begins chanting 'kiss, kiss, kiss' and Madge holds a hand to her ear, pretending to be trying to understand them before turning back to Gale and mouthing the words 'well, kiss me'.

It's the one thing Gale doesn't need to be prompted to do, though he isn't too happy about doing it on live television.

A show is what they want though, so a show is what they'll get then.

Sweeping her back, Gale leans in and presses a kiss to her lips. The crowd loses its mind.

The screaming intensifies and Madge's arms lock around his neck, holding him in place, not letting him go until air becomes an absolute necessity.

It's more than the audience can handle, and Gale sees several people being carried out, apparently overwhelmed with emotion at the display.

Several minutes pass before they quiet and one of the little stage managers, a man dressed in flat gray and stern expression, motions for Madge and Gale to sit down.

With another brilliant but pained smile, she tugs him onto the seat with her, linking her fingers in his. He appreciates the gesture. The heat from the lights, combined with the no-sweat lining of the clothes, is making him overheated. Working in the mines, near hot and dangerous equipment has made him more resilient, but the stakes aren't quite so high in the mines. A slip up there would likely only get him killed. Here, everything is on the line.

He finally, truly appreciates the pressure Madge has been under the last few years.

"So you're Gale?" Templesmith asks, teeth gleaming under the lights, almost blinding Gale.

Gale swallows, but he has no spit. He's dried out.

"Yes, sir."

Flickerman laughs and Gale feels his annoyance flare again.

"Sir? Very polite. Not that we'd expect anything less from the beau of our little diamond," Flickerman chuckles.

His never fading smile and too white teeth flash to the camera and Gale is momentarily reminded of Alameda. Maybe they got their teeth fixed by the same quack Capitol doctor.

"Tell us, how did you meet our little diamond?"

Glancing at Madge, Gale sees her nod just slightly. It's a safe question, though Gale feels like it may as well be asking him how he'd like to die.

"Well, I-we've known each other since we were kids," he finally manages, certain he's made the Capitol envision them as childhood sweethearts but been vague enough that it's not something they can pin down.

"A youthful romance? What a story!" Flickerman shouts, eyes shining. "Did you know all that time she was the one for you?"

It's a stupid question to Gale, and he starts to answer, but Madge cuts him off.

"Oh, I doubt that. There's, well, quite the split in Twelve." She gestures between herself and Gale. "We're not exactly on the same side of the financial divide."

That's putting it lightly.

"Gale and I knew each other, but it was hardly a love story." Her smile falters, and Gale can almost hear her say 'and I think he hated me.'

There's a little bit of defeat in her eyes, and Gale gets the feeling she's wondering if things had gone differently would they have gotten together.

Gale's wondered the same thing too.

Looking at her now, with sparkles dusted on her skin and her hair stiff, dress too low cut and obviously pregnant, he knows the answer.

He'd love her no matter the situation. What happened wasn't an accident, they were meant to be together.

"Only because I didn't have a chance with her," Gale adds.

Madge's expression flickers to curiosity as she stares at him, uncertain what he's about to say.

"She's the mayor's daughter and I'm just a miner's kid, a miner too, so I'd given up on her."

He feels like a sap, spilling his guts on national television, but Madge needs to know. For the moment he doesn't care that he's supposed to let Madge answer most of the questions and that he's just there to 'look pretty'. She needs to know.

"I met her at her granddad's candy shop, and she was...she was the prettiest girl I'd ever seen. My dad used to tease me about her. When I got older, I realized it was stupid to like her." He takes a breath, forces a smile and squeezes her hand. "When she was Reaped, I realized even if I pretended not to, I still liked her. When she came home...I knew I loved her."

It's the truth…more or less.

Madge blinks, and Gale knows she's close to tears, so he leans in and presses a quick kiss to her lips, which earns an 'aww' from the audience.

Templesmith looks mildly uncomfortable, but Flickerman swats at his eyes.

"What a touching story." His expression shifts so quickly to a beaming smile that Gale half thinks he imagined the tears. "But what a happy ending!"

Reaching over, Flickerman pats Madge's stomach again, and Gale grinds his teeth. He's going to break the man's hand.

"So, when is the wedding?" Templesmith asks, clearly ready to be done with interviews and get back to announcing things.

Madge squeezes Gale's hand clearly this will be her question.

"Sometime after the Games for certain." She gives the audience an indulgent smile. "So that my family here can help me pick a dress."

"And flowers! And colors! And the cake!"

That sets things off again. The crowd swells up, sobbing in happiness and squealing in delight at Madge's compliment.

It takes nearly half an hour for them to settle again, and by that time the television spot time is apparently up.

"They want to stretch us around," Madge had explained. "Make people hungry for us. It's the same reason they send us around town in soundproof, dark windowed cars. They want people to know we're there, but they want them to work to see us."

And only giving them the smallest of television spots will definitely make them hungry for more.

Despite the protests of the audience, the curtain closes, Madge waves, and Gale is relieved that their shouts are cut off with a snap.

"Well that was splendid!" Flickerman claps his hands as he stands and offers Gale a hand. "And wonderful to meet you too!"

Templesmith gives them both a curt nod before going to a frantically waving man at the edge of the stage, not even glancing back.

"You really do look radiant," he tells Madge, giving her a much more genuine, less toothy, smile. "Never shined brighter."

Before Madge can even thank him, the same man that had called Templesmith off shouts for Flickerman, so he claps them both on the shoulders.

"I'll see you again soon, no doubt."

Then he's gone, and Madge is frowning.

"Where's everyone going?" She asks, drawing Gale's attention to the fact that the skeleton crew has almost all vanished. Even Haymitch has been shuffled off, which bodes more ominously to Gale than anything else. Whatever else he might be, the jackass loves Madge, and he wouldn't vanish on her after something so stressful.

Lights start shutting off, one by one, until only the pair focused on the stage are left on, a small pool in the strangely dense darkness that's surrounded them.

In the far corner, someone claps breaking the unnatural silence that's taken over the studio, before stepping into the edge of the light.

It takes Gale a second to register just who he's seeing, but Madge doesn't have the same problem.

"President Snow?"

In real life, the man looks even thinner, more snake like, than he had on the television. His white hair is almost too thin to cover his head and his skin seems translucent in the blazing light. Then he smiles, narrow lips stretching painfully on his face, and Gale swears he sees blood on his teeth.

"That was a delightful show you just put on Miss Undersee," he says, his voice icy. His eyes narrow and cut to Gale. "And quite the impressive story, Mr. Hawthorne. I almost believe you love her. Very good."

Biting his tongue, Gale battles the urge to punch the man and be done with it all. He's the cause of all their troubles and he doesn't like him so near to Madge and their baby.

"What-what're you talking about?" Madge asks, voice faltering.

Gale isn't sure either, but he's sure he isn't going to like it.

"My dear Miss Undersee, I'm afraid you've been quite duped," Snow half hisses. "I have it on good authority that your darling Gale set his sights on you for nothing more than a soft bed and a full belly." His cold eyes settle on Madge's stomach. "Though it looks like he got more out of you than he could've even imagined."

Minutes tick by as Gale tries to figure out what's going on. It's surreal.

Wanting to defend himself, Gale turns to Madge, expecting to see hurt and panic. Instead, her lips are curled up in a grin that reminds him entirely too much of Alameda's.

"You think this was an accident?" She says, voice brittle, almost cracking, half glancing at Gale. "I couldn't risk him getting bored." Her lip quivers and Gale feels his stomach sink. "Food and sex will only keep a guy around so long. Looks fade, the novelty wears off, and then where would I be? A baby though, with a guy from the Seam, he wouldn't abandon his kid."

It's not true, none of it is, but Gale can't get himself to talk. His mind is simultaneously telling him to tell the truth, while another part is warning him that this is part of the game and stay quiet. He can explain to Madge later.

It's worse than a nightmare, at least you wake from nightmares.

"There are a lot of women in Ten that would argue otherwise, my dear," Snow tells her, no hint of sympathy.

That silences Madge, her eyes fill with tears, and Gale wishes he weren't frozen in the spot. She needs to know it was never a game on his side, and he'd swear on anything that it wasn't an act on her side either.

"You should go eat something," Snow tells her, gesturing at the door. "I need to have a word with the happy father…alone."

Nodding, sniffling, Madge turns, her wet eyes catching Gale's for half a second, sparkling, and he's swears he sees triumph in them.

Right before Madge steps out of the light, Snow calls to her, thin lips curled in a chilly smile.

"Congratulations."

Madge simply nods again before turning and rushing away. Gale thinks he hears the heartbreakingly familiar sound of her sob as the door to the studios drops shut.

He finally gets his feet to move, but as he starts to chase her, reassure her, Snow stops him

"Just one moment, Mr. Hawthorne." He holds up a hand, then begins coughing, loud and painfully. Covering his mouth with a white tissue, Snow finally stops coughing, and when he takes the tissue down there's blood on it.

Stepping closer, he wipes a fleck of blood from the corner of his mouth, then smiles.

"You're a very lucky man. She's stuck with you now."

Gale frowns, uncertain what he's talking about, causing Snow to chuckle.

"Darling little Magdalene isn't so devious as to get herself pregnant, but you? I have it on good authority you'd do whatever it takes to keep her with you." His grin twists up. "And it certainly paid off. Ingratiating your brothers with her was also quite brilliant." He glances behind Gale. "I must say, he's much more impressive than you painted him, Miss Alameda."

Spinning on his heels, Gale finds Alameda standing at the edge of the light, picking her nails.

"I wouldn't get too excited, sir," she says, looking up and smirking. "It took him ages to get her knocked up."

"I admire his commitment," Snow tells her.

Alameda simply shrugs.

Gale glares at her. He'd always known she was no friend to Madge, and now he has proof.

It's a little too late though.

"Mr. Hawthorne, though you've fought admirably to gain this position, your battle isn't won yet." His tongue flicks out, probably to lick his lips, but it only smears a little blood on them that he wipes away with his little, pink and red tinged tissue. "You must continue to convince the Capitol that you're sickeningly in love with Miss Undersee. Without that, you won't get to keep your hard won life and your brother might not get to come home. And since you've hijacked my Games, you owe me a good show, do you understand?"

Gale doesn't, not really, but he knows a threat when he hears one.

It's either give the Capitol what it wants, more declarations and sappy shows of affection, or Rory, and possibly Madge and the baby, won't see Twelve again.

Nodding, Gale forces an acknowledgment out. "Yes, sir."

Smile widening, sending a chill up Gale's back, Snow turns.

"Miss Alameda, see to it Mr. Hawthorne makes it back to his lovely bride to be."

Without so much as a glance back, Snow is swallowed up in the shadows.

"Oh, and Mr. Hawthorne?" Snow's voice comes from the inky blackness. "Congratulations."

Staring at the empty space, Gale doesn't move until he hears his name.

"Gale? Come on."

Alameda is standing at the edge of the light again, smirk gone, eyes wide and flickering around the room, searching for something. She gestures for Gale to follow her.

Too confused to argue, Gale begins trailing after her, off the stage, across the dark, through the door, and down the hall. It isn't until Madge's dressing room door is in view that he fully comprehends what's happened.

Pushing down his anger, he takes larger steps and grabs Alameda by the upper part of her arm, jerking her along.

"Hey!"

Ignoring her yelps of pain and struggles to unclamp Gale's hand, he drags her down the hall and half throws her in the dressing room.

"You little lying bitch," he growls as he grabs her and slams her into the wall.

He's going to kill her. Madge thinks he's a leech, and it's all because of her and her lies.

She's momentarily stunned, but when Gale tries to grab her again, toss her across the room, she kicks him in the shins and twists, hitting him hard in the middle with an elbow.

"Gale!"

Still clutching his ribs, she hits hard for someone so small, Gale turns and finds Madge rushing towards him.

She immediately starts inspecting him for injury, pulling up his shirt and revealing a blossoming bruise.

"Birdy, did you have to hit him so hard?"

"Me? He threw me into the wall! I'm half his size!"

Madge gives her a look that plainly says that doesn't mean much before turning her attention back to Gale.

"You shoulda let them kick each other's asses," Haymitch wheezes from the couch. "Chaff and I like to bet against Bird, but I think she'd have a chance with this one."

"You bet against me?" Alameda looks indignant. "You shoulda told me and we coulda staged some stuff."

"Not now," Madge grumbles, gnawing her lip as she continues to fret over the bruise on Gale's side.

Certain he's missing something, Gale grabs her hands.

"You aren't-you don't think I was using you?"

Expression pained, Madge shakes her head, stiff hair barely moving.

"No, of course not. Not anymore than I was using you." She sighs, rubs her belly, now almost habit. "It's part of the game. President Snow couldn't know the truth."

At the mention of Snow, Gale points at Alameda and snarls.

"He wouldn't know anything if it weren't for this little snitch!"

Rolling her eyes, Alameda snorts. "And he thinks you're the deviously clever one. Mr. President is clearly slipping in his old age."

Still confused, Gale looks at Madge.

"She told him about us," he tells her, not sure what he's missing. "She said she was your friend and she spilled all your secrets."

"There wasn't a choice," Haymitch finally pipes up, groaning as he pushes himself from the couch. "Snow wouldn't believe her if she gave him a boring old report everytime he asked. So Bird gave him her own colorful version of the truth."

Alameda nods. "I've been feeding him the line that you're after a warm bed, warm food, and warm body. And Madge, being the sweet little dewdrop she is, has been blindsided by your sob story and use of cute younger siblings."

"It had the potential to make Madge miserable, so he didn't interfere," Haymitch adds. "Nothing makes him happier than thinking he has a hold over us, something that'll make us better puppets."

"He thinks Cecelia's kids all have different dads because her husband can't have kids." Alameda quickly adds, "They don't, just so you know. But it's what Snow believes that's important. The image is everything."

Feeling dim, Gale looks back at Madge.

"This is true?" He squints at her. "And you didn't tell me?"

Madge chews her lip, peering up at Gale through her falsely long eyelashes and nodding, fear shining in her eyes.

"I couldn't tell you, Gale," she whispers. "I couldn't risk it. It's not about trust, it was about playing this stupid game. It's always about the game."

"It would've helped if I knew what was going on when he cornered me!"

"Would it have?" Alameda asks, crossing her arms and glaring. "You're better on your feet, no time to worry, most people are. We couldn't take the chance of you jeopardizing everything by slipping and saying something he could figure out."

He doesn't want to agree with her, but he understands her point.

Tears begin sliding down Madge's cheeks, dripping on her dress as her face crumples.

"Please don't be mad."

Pulling her into a hug, Gale combs her hair down, pressing a kiss into it. "I'm not mad."

Which isn't true. He's furious, but not with her.

Snow and his damn game.

For a few minutes he just holds her, hoping his fingers through her hair and his mumbled comforts are easing her mind. It isn't until someone coughs, loudly and obnoxiously, that Gale even remembers there are other people in the room.

"Hate to break this up," Haymitch says, not sounding the least upset, "but you two are pretty popular."

Still looking soured, rubbing her shoulder, Alameda nods.

"You're booked until the Games begin. And the president will be very disappointed if you even think of skipping any of them. "

Madge nods against him before pulling away, wiping her face with the back of her hands. Her makeup doesn't even smear.

She looks up at him, eyes still shining. "Are you ready?"

He isn't, but he knows he never will be.

"So I guess we have to pretend to be a happy couple that's...not happy?" Gale asks, not even sure he understands what he's just said.

No, he's positive he doesn't know what he's just said.

Alameda taps the end of her nose and grins at Haymitch. "Look at that, Dorothy can learn."

Huffing, Haymitch crosses his arms and jerks his head toward the door. "Then learn to walk, dumbass. We're gonna be late."

Wrapping his hand in Madge's, Gale tries to decide what expression he's supposed to have, settling on a forced smile.

Still looking irritable, maybe from the interview or maybe because he's still stuck with Gale, Haymitch leads the way, out the door and to their fate.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: As always, thanks to Nursekelly for putting up with me.

The parties are overwhelming, to say the least. Worse than the years past.

"They're extra excited," Mr. Abernathy reminds her, gesturing to her stomach. "Been a long time since a Victor had a kid."

Cecelia's youngest was almost ten. A decade without another child to salivate over was clearly just too long.

A woman, dressed in pink feathers from head to toe, catches them first, her scratchy voice barely carrying over the band playing in the gold and white glittering room.

"You look marvelous, darling, just marvelous!" She shouts, pulling Madge into a hug.

Madge isn't sure who she is, a donor maybe, possibly someone she's met before, but her name escapes her. It's possible she's changed faces since the last time they talked, that happens sometimes. Finally, when the pause edges toward uncomfortably long, Madge just nods and compliments her on her outfit.

"This old thing?" She laughs, raspy and harsh. "I've had it for weeks! But you know I'm into reusing. Save the environment!"

Though she's pretty sure wearing clothing made from a genetically created birds more than once isn't saving the environment, Madge keeps her mouth shut and smiles.

Gale makes an incredulous noise when she walks away.

"Was she serious?"

"Like a heart attack," Mr. Abernathy grumbles, pushing past Gale and going toward the bar at the back of the ballroom. "I'm going to get you a drink."

He comes back a few minutes later, a glass of something amber in one hand and water in the other. As he hands Madge the cup, he shoots Gale a glare, almost daring him to ask where his drink is.

Ignoring him, Gale puts a hand on Madge's back and steers her toward the ballroom opening.

The entry had clearly not been indicative of what was to come, it had been entirely too serene, and they pay for it the moment they step into the ballroom.

Squeals of excitement fill the air, and in less than a blink of an eye, the room has swelled and crashed onto them, crushing them together as they paw at Madge's belly and try to get closer looks at Gale.

They aren't people, they're objects to them as they push them around, passing them like new toys to be inspected.

The gilded ballroom gets exchanged for a pulsing purple and black club for their next stop.

It vibrates with too loud music that makes Madge's ears ring, smells like smoke and vapor, alcohol and perfumes masking body odor, and the lights strobe continuously.

Gale keeps his hand locked around hers, a gesture that is meant as affectionate and comforting, but can easily be misconstrued by President Snow as possessive. He pulls her onto the dance floor several times, more to get away from pointless questions than anything else, but it could be seen as isolating. His expression is a forced smile and he never lets Madge from his sight.

He might not understand the Game, but his natural instinct to protect her is making him play it perfectly.

"Glad to hear it," he mumbles as they settle in the back of a limo, on the way to the third or fourth party of the day.

Mr. Abernathy doesn't think he's doing such a great job though.

"Maybe you could try a little harder to keep people's hands off her though," he tells Gale, his arms crossed and his mouth in a hard frown. "They're practically lifting her dress."

Gale's teeth grind.

"It's not like they aren't groping me too," Gale snaps.

They don't talk again until the party at the aquarium near the docks.

The fish are every bit as colorful as the party guests, and Madge can almost imagine herself as a fancy bit of decoration in a human sized fish tank.

"Maybe," Mr. Abernathy mutters, more to Madge than Gale, "we can get you a bodyguard. You're fragile and all these assholes touching you isn't good on you."

Madge rolls her eyes. They'd half ripped Cashmere's clothes off once, and she didn't get protection. If that didn't get a Victor a bodyguards, them being pregnant certainly wouldn't.

"Being your girlfriend doesn't entitle her to special privileges, Haymitch."

They turn and find Finnick, bronze hair silhouetted against the blue glow of the aquarium, smirking as he saunters to them, stepping between Madge and Gale. He gives Madge a wink.

"And if you haven't noticed," Finnick gestures to Madge's stomach, "she's got another boyfriend. It looks serious."

Madge snorts again and Finnick's grin widens.

He's always teased her about Mr. Abernathy's affection for her. It's become a bit of a running joke to him.

"Someone has a crush," he'd chuckled when Mr. Abernathy had told him off for telling Madge she looked pretty on one of her first trips to the Capitol. "Aren't you a little old for her, Haymitch?"

"That's rich coming from you," Mr. Abernathy snapped.

Finnick had paled, given Madge a curt goodbye, then hurried off after that. He hadn't talked to either of them the rest of that trip.

They'd made upper next visit, after Madge had apologized profusely for Mr. Abernathy's rudeness, though he promised her she didn't have to. Finnick still likes to joke that their relationship is more than Mentor and Tribute whenever he can.

Gale steps around Finnick, crossing his arms, eyebrows knitted together.

Not missing a beat, Finnick holds out a hand. "Finnick Odair, the man crushed by your capturing of my darling Madge's tender heart."

Making a face that plainly says he'd rather deal with more Capitol reporters than shake Finnick's hand, Gale takes it and gives it a jerk, quickly letting go.

"You know, from Birdy's description of you, I was expecting someone less…" Finnick searches for the right word, "manly."

Mr. Abernathy chuckles. "You just met him, give it some time."

Stepping out from between Mr. Abernathy and Finnick, Madge takes Gale's hand as she turns to look at them, shooting Mr. Abernathy a stern glare as she does.

"Gale, I've told you about Finnick." Although she's never mentioned what a flirt he is. Years of putting the act on for the Capitol have made it almost second nature for him.

It rolls right off Madge, but it clearly bothers Gale. His eyes narrow as he takes in Finnick's appearance, which hardly endears him to most men.

He's dressed, but just barely. His shirt is unbuttoned halfway, showing off his tanned and toned abdomen, and his pants are are artfully ripped, giving a view of his brightly colored underwear beneath.

Gale does not seem impressed.

Finnick, probably sensing the hostility, motions to Madge. "And she's told me quite a lot about you."

That seems to ease Gale's mind, knowing his name and existence isn't foreign to the man, and the stiffness in his shoulders lessens, his expression softens.

"All good things."

A small smile forms on Gale's face and he squeezes Madge's hand.

"Yeah, you too."

#######

Gale decides he'd rather have Madge's best friend in the Capitol be Finnick Odair than Alameda.

Finnick is friendly, funny, and most importantly, not annoying. He can ignore the fact that he's only half dressed on those reasons alone.

"It's gonna be a looker," Finnick tells them, smiling at Madge's stomach, now being used as a prop for her plate of something she calls 'nachos'.

"Only if it takes after its mother," Haymitch adds, snatching one of the chops from Madge's stomach.

Gale ignores him.

"Well, Madge," Finnick begins, eyeing her carefully, "how strong are your genes? Did you take after your dear old dad, your mommy, or a good little mix?"

Madge laughs and starts to answer, but Haymitch cuts her off.

"Looks just like 'Tilda," he answers for her. "And best off for it."

While Gale agrees Madge takes entirely after her mom, and that's nothing short of a miracle, he doesn't like the fond look the dirty old drunk shoots her after that.

"Oh I see." Finnick nods wisely. "That's why you're so soft on her. You've got a long unrequited crush on her mom. Haymitch," he pretends to wipe at his eyes, "that's tragically beautiful."

Rolling his eyes, Haymitch snatches up a nacho and flings it at Finnick's face, only missing him by inches when the other man blocks it with an empty plate.

Haymitch spends the rest of the evening sulking and staying silent, which only serves to make Gale like Finnick more.

It's close to midnight before they leave the shimmering glow of the aquarium.

"I'll see you around," Finnick tells them, right before leaving with a woman more than twice his age, wearing even less clothing than he is.

Entire body aching from dancing and head pounding from the strange smells and awful music, Gale is happy to slide into the back of the long black car, hidden, even for just a short drive, from the cameras and the shouting.

How Madge has survived it all this time he isn't sure. She's stronger than he'll ever be. Stronger than he realized.

"One down," Madge sighs, slumping into Gale's shoulder.

Cars and motorcycles race along beside them, all the way to the Training Center.

It's bigger than Gale imagined. It stretches upward, looming over the landscape, dark windows reflecting with neon lights and flashing signs.

The car slows and the chasing reporters are trapped behind an invisible barrier as they slope downward, into a dark parking area.

White lights flood the area as the car parks and the doors click, unlocking.

Gale reaches for the handle, curious despite himself about what waits inside, but he stops when Madge grabs his hand.

"Gale, I need to tell you something before we get upstairs."

She's chewing her lip again, never a good sign, and Gale readies himself for the worst.

"Rory, he, well, he wasn't very happy about me-well, about what I'm doing." She begins picking at the diamonds sewn into her dress hem. "He wanted me to save Charity, and he thinks I'm only trying to save him, but I couldn't tell him the truth. It's too risky, I think."

"He was being a little asshole," Haymitch clarifies, eyes narrowed on Gale, as though it's his fault Rory is such a pain in the ass.

While he's probably partly to blame, he hardly deserves all the credit.

"He's furious with me, Gale, and you showing up...I don't think it'll help things."

Gale isn't sure whether to be annoyed or proud of Rory.

He's always looked out for Vick and Posy, even if he did use a good portion of his time also driving them up the wall, but Gale has never paid attention to see if his brother took up for anyone else.

Rory's chivalry is probably isn't new though. Just like his bravery, Gale's somehow managed to miss it all these years.

Tears start sliding down Madge's cheeks, and Gale pulls her towards him. He isn't sure what Rory's said or done, but it's hit Madge hard. She's trying to save the world and all she's getting from Rory is lip apparently.

They sit, Madge picking at her dress and silently crying on Gale's shoulder, Haymitch sipping loudly on a glass of something that smells fruity, and Gale wondering just what he's going to do with his idiot little brother, punch him then hug him or hug him then punch him, until someone opens the door.

"Are you idiots going to stay in here all night?"

Alameda pokes her dark head in, squinting at them for a minute before stepping in and taking Haymitch's drink.

She'd disappeared right before the first party, and Gale had been so glad to be rid of her he hadn't even asked where she went.

"Where've you been?" Haymitch asks, trying to snatch his drink back.

Gale isn't sure he cares where she's been. He still doesn't trust her, despite the fact that her explanation makes sense.

Dodging him, Alameda downs the last of the red liquid and makes a face.

"I'm not sure I like sober you. That's awful." She hands the empty glass back. "And for your information, I've been working."

Madge sits forward, anticipation painted on her every feature.

Alameda either doesn't notice or doesn't care, just rummages in the tiny icebox for a minute until she finds something satisfactory, smiling and flopping back in the seat as she opens it and takes a sip.

Finally, Madge sighs. "Are you going to tell us what you've gotten done or not?"

Taking another sip, Alameda shrugs. "I suppose." She downs the rest of the drink and tosses the bottle to the floor.

"Five is already working on cutting the power. Surge said it won't take much. Apparently they've been planning it as a last hurrah when they got old...well, older enough to die." She holds up two fingers. "Mr. Beetee and Mrs. Cord are confident they can crack the codes and over take the television and communication satellites, leaving us free to tell them whatever we like, and I've found us three avoxes that can pilot hovercrafts, though I'd like more. All that's left is testing the passcodes, which unfortunately will be a one and done deal."

Gale's shock at her efficiency must show on his face, because she crosses her arms and huffs.

"What? Didn't think I could pull it off?"

Much as he'd like to say no, he didn't, Gale only manages a scowl as he slouches further into the seat.

"I didn't think you could do it so quickly," Madge admits.

Alameda shrugs. "The easy stuff is done. We still have to get the power ready to go down and they haven't even started trying to decode the encryption on the satellites. There's still a long way to go."

That doesn't dampen Madge's spirits.

"We're making progress though, that's good."

"It's something."Alameda shrugs, running a finger along the edge of the window and the door. "Now, why are you still in the car?"

Haymitch jabs a finger at Gale. "Telling this one what a pain in the ass his brother has been."

"It's only been a day. What's he done?" She shakes her head. "Oh, you know what, never mind. He's related to Dorothy, being a little shit is probably burned in his genetic code."

Gale starts to snap that it must be burned in hers too, but Madge cuts him off.

"He's mad at me. He thinks I'm throwing Charity to the wolves."

"By taking down the Capitol?" Alameda's eyebrows arch up and she looks at Gale. "And I thought you were the stupid one."

"He doesn't know about the plan," Madge explains. "I didn't tell him. It seemed too dangerous."

Alameda blinks, seems to consider it, then shrugs. "Just tell the little asshole then. I mean, what are they gonna do to him, kill him? They're already making him a casket."

Gale's scowl deepens. How stupid is she? "If he tells someone-"

"Who's he gonna tell? Why? And when would he do it? He's living on borrowed time. If he really wants to save the girl, he'll be all for keeping his trap shut and letting us work." She makes a face. "Plus, there's still no guarantee we're gonna make it through. A little hope might be good for him."

Madge squints at her, scrutinizes her for a second before sighing. "And?"

Wicked grin forming on her lips, Alameda tosses her shiny black hair over her shoulder.

"And it'll look suspicious if he goes to training acting like a pill the entire time. He needs to act like he's in it to win it. The president will be watching his practices closely, and if the only way to make sure he tries is to clue him in, then that's what we'll do."

Gale hates when she makes sense.

"Look, just make sure the kid gets his act together. I'll listen in to the trainers to see if he got any of them suspicious with his attitude today. Hopefully not. I mean, they might just take it as an act to throw the others off..." She shakes her head. "We'll deal with that later. Just clue him in."

Opening the door, she gestures for them to follow.

They slowly make their way up and to the elevator.

"Someone must've decided we needed a little mystery," Madge tells him, waving her hand at the empty hall.

"Or they just want to keep footage of Dorothy exclusive for a little bit longer," Alameda grumbles.

They reach the main floor and Madge peeks around the corner toward the entry, motioning for Gale to follow.

Sure enough, there are thousands of reporters fighting for position, thought they look uncertain as they shove one another around. Probably confused why they were denied the treat of Madge and Gale's walk to the front doors.

While the elevator descends to pick them up, Gale turns on the spot, surveying his new prison.

It's clean and cold, well kept plants tucked into ugly painted pots and shitty, tuneless music playing softly overhead. Not the kind of place Gale would want to spend his last days.

Finally, the elevator chimes, and the door opens.

Several people, all Victors by the looks of them, shuffle out.

A motherly looking woman instantly steps toward Madge and pulls her into a hug.

"I'm so happy for you," she tells her, kissing her cheek.

Madge gives her a small but genuine smile. "Thanks, Cecelia."

A man with crooked glasses nods at her, flashing a small smile before rushing by, waving his hand for the woman behind him to hurry.

The woman follows, but at a much slower pace. She reminds Gale a little of Matilda, with her strange, hazy eyes, slightly confused expression, and the otherworldly sense about her. While Matilda's makes her endearing, the woman's makes her unsettling. She's been scooped out and filled with a touch of madness, not the sweet natured kind Madge's mom is afflicted with, but something awful, terrifying.

She stares at Madge for a moment, as though trying to piece something together in her mind, then she smiles. It's empty, like Matilda's, but there's something sinister behind it, and Gale isn't sure it's from her or what made her that way.

"Secrets, secrets are no fun," she says, voice sing-song and high. "Secrets, secrets hurt someone."

Haymitch shoots Alameda a look, but she isn't paying attention. She's focused, nose wrinkled and eyebrows knitted together, on the woman.

"What secret's that, Wiress?"

Gale almost groans, she's asking a stupid question because he's sure he knows what secret, but stops. The woman is clearly out of her mind, Alameda wouldn't have told her anything.

Smiling at her, the woman shakes her head. "They're no fun."

"She's loopy," Haymitch grumbles, giving Madge a little nudge toward the elevator. "Let's get."

Gale actually agrees with him, following him and Madge onto the elevator. Alameda doesn't budge though.

"I'll check on you in a while," she tells them, not looking, still focused on the 'Wiress' woman, now fiddling with a piece of metal. "I need a word with Wiress and Mr. Beetee."

It'll be a fun conversation, Gale's sure of that, but he's too happy to be rid of her again to point that out and risk her changing her mind.

The doors slide shut, cutting the strange people off, and Gale closes his eyes.

It's not like the elevators in the mines, rickety, noisy, threatening to fall apart or drop them to the bottom of the shaft at any moment. The Capitol elevator is silent, smooth, speedy, perfection in build, but Gale would still prefer the stairs. He doesn't like being trapped in a box that could so easily become his coffin.

He doesn't even think of Rory or what he's going to say to him, just focuses on breathing, on Madge's hand in his, on anything but the swooping sensation in his stomach and the ascent to their floor.

When the chime goes off and the doors open, Gale almost jumps out, dragging Madge with him.

Something makes an awful, ear splitting noise, and before Gale can look to see if he'd stepped on a cat, someone has thrown their arms around his neck.

"Oh, Magdalene! He's just absolutely perfect!" Effie Trinket, her wig a strange peach color and apparently sideways on her head, wraps her talon like fingers around Gale's head, anchoring him in place at a odd angle as she inspects him.

Her breath is pungent, reminds him of the men that spend their evenings in the lone bar in the Seam, and her face is frozen. She's had a few surgeries over the years to hide the unmistakable signs of age. They haven't helped in Gale's opinion. If anything, they've aged her more.

"He looks so much like Rory." She yanks Gale head down and peers over his hunched form at Madge. "Good genes. Just like you!"

Twisting, Gale breaks from her grip and rubs his face.

"And tall!" Trinket beans at him. "Oh, I could climb him!"

"Don't," Haymitch warns her.

Ignoring him, Trinket carries on.

"Now, I'm sure you've been wondering where I've been."

Gale had not. He'd actually forgotten her existence.

Neither Madge or Haymitch seemed to have wondered at her blessed absence either. They hadn't even mentioned it.

"Well, the calls for your attendance at parties have been just flooding in. I couldn't leave it to just anyone to coordinate." She grabs Madge's hand and pats it in what she must think is a comforting way. "But don't worry. I won't miss your day about town tomorrow." She pats at her eyes with a tissue even though there's no hint of tears in them. "I'm just so proud. I feel like I'm about to be a very, very, very young grandmere!"

Gale chokes, but Trinkets doesn't notice.

With another brilliant smile, she sweeps past them, not so much as acknowledging Haymitch, before getting on the elevator.

"I just have to do something with this hair of mine," she says, more to Madge than anyone else as she waves. " See you in the morning!"

They watch the lights at the top of the door flash, showing her descent away, and Haymitch sighs.

"Think we could convince Bird to poison her?"

Madge makes a faint noise, and her expression makes it clear this isn't the first time he's suggested this. "No, Mr. Abernathy."

Haymitch opens his mouth to argue, but gets cut off my a small gasp at the end of the hall.

Rory is standing there, hair a tousled mess, wearing what looks like silk pajamas, a look of utter disbelief of his face.

He just stares for a minute, probably trying to figure out if he's awake or asleep, before he takes a step into the light of the hall.

"Gale?"

His voice is so small, sounds so young, that the annoyance Gale felt with him for upsetting Madge starts to evaporate.

He's the same kid that had told him he was scared right before Gale had been forced away at the Justice Building. He's just a scared little boy trying to do the right thing before he faces his end.

Gale barely has a chance to nod before Rory has run down the hall and flung himself at him, his breathing ragged.

Forgetting about telling him off, at least for the moment, Gale crushes Rory to him.

His little brother is safe. For the now, Gale is here and can protect him, just like he always has. He's going to protect him.

"They let you come?" Rory asks, his voice thick on Gale's shoulder.

Gale nods.

Pulling back, Rory quickly wipes his eyes on his silken cuff and sets his features.

"Don't do this," he says, voice almost breaking. "I don't want-I'm not letting you let them kill Charity for me."

Gale sucks in a long breath. "Rory…"

He fixes Gale in an accusing glare. "You wouldn't let them do it for you, would you?" He shakes his head. "Well, I'm not letting it happen for me either."

He wouldn't, and Rory knows it.

For a moment Gale just stares at him, wondering when what Gale would or wouldn't do began having any weight on Rory's decisions.

His brother had grown a conscience when Gale wasn't looking.

Opening his mouth, Gale starts to explain things, but stops when he feels Madge's cool hand on his shoulder.

"Not here," she whispers, her other hand wrapped around the diamond at her neck.

She motions for them to follow her and Haymitch, down the opposite hall, toward a dark door that Haymitch opens and hurries them through.

They take a set of narrow steps up to what must be the roof.

It's covered in strange plants, some glow against the starless sky, vibrant pinks and yellow and orange. A few snap at their ankles as they walk by.

They cross by some flowers that Gale recognizes, simple, unaltered plants like lilacs and marigolds, but others, like the glowing, carnivorous ones, he's sure are man made.

When they reach the far edge, a small wall that rises to Gale's waist, they stop and wait, though Gale isn't sure what for.

Finally, Madge's expression relaxes, her hand slips from the pendant at her neck, and she sighs.

"Okay, it's safe."

How she knows, Gale isn't sure, but for the moment that can stay a mystery. He needs to talk to Rory.

Madge gives Gale a little nod, letting him know he's going to be the one to explain things to his brother. He has to.

Taking a deep breath, Gale settles against the wall and fixes Rory in a steady gaze.

"Alright, just listen."

#######

Madge listens as Gale explains the situation to Rory, nodding encouragingly and filling in the gaps when Rory looks to her for clarification.

When he reaches the end, Rory just stares, digesting the mass of information he's just been given.

Finally, he shakes his head.

"You guys...can't do this." He covers his face, rubbing it for a second before running his hands up into his hair, standing it on end. "I'm not worth screwing everything up over."

"You don't get to make the calls here, kid," Mr. Abernathy tells him, his voice gentler than normal. "This was gonna happen. Just happening sooner than it was."

"And you'd've had more time. Years is a lot better than days." Rory looks at Madge, points to the middle. "Don't risk what you will have for what you might have."

Taking his hand, Madge blinks back tears.

"Rory, listen to me." She closes her eyes. "I'm tired of playing their game, going by their rules. I've been passive for too long, and I've watched too many lives be destroyed because of it." She puts his hand where the baby normally kicks. "I'm doing this for you, this baby, Charity, and all the other kids that might be Reaped. I can't sit back anymore."

The worst has happened and she refuses to wait for the next disaster. She's taking her fate in her hands and Rory won't stop her.

"Please, just-I know it's hard and you don't like it, but you've got to play along."

All their lives depend on it.

He stares at his hand on her belly for a moment, considering her plea before his eyes rise and lock with hers. Then he nods.

"Fine, I'll play." He crosses his arms and shifts his gaze to Gale and back to Madge. "What do I need to do?"

A smile finally forms on Madge's lips, the first real one she's had all day.

"Act like you can't lose."

Because he can't. Madge isn't going to let him. She won't let any of them lose.

"What about Charity?" His expression hardens again. "I'm not just dropping her during training. She's scared enough as it is."

Madge starts to answer, but Mr. Abernathy beats her to it.

"I doubt they're going to pay attention to the girl." He scratches his stubble. "Heck, they might just think you've got a little crush on her-"

"She's barely thirteen!" Rory snaps. "She's a little kid!"

Mr. Abernathy rolls his eyes. "That doesn't mean much here."

Closing her eyes, Madge sighs, remembering Elvira's comments on Charity's appearance when they'd arrived. He's right, and that's just one more reason they have to succeed.

"Just let them believe what they want," Madge tells him, opening her eyes. "Perception is everything."

And whatever they want to report to President Snow, that Rory has a crush or that Charity is feeding his ego, it doesn't matter. Both are good excuses, both are likely.

Rory nods, still looking disgusted with the entire situation.

Madge pulls him into a hug and kisses his cheek. "Thank you."

He tightens the hug and nods.

"I hope this works."

Madge doesn't say anything, just closes her eyes.

She hopes it works too.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: Thanks to Nursekelly for the help.

Gale feels the warmth of the sun on his back, but he stubbornly keeps his eyes closed, pulls Madge tighter against him.

If he doesn't open them, doesn't fully wake up, he can pretend they're back home in Twelve, relatively safe and not quite so close to the groping hands of the Capitol. The illusion that nothing's change can hang over them like another blanket as long as he doesn't try to shake his sleep off.

It's a not much of a fantasy truthfully. Nothing changed isn't much better than the mess they're in now, but at least he had some control over things back then. Here, he's at the mercy of madness, and it burns him straight through.

He's not one to let others take risks for him, but he feels like that's all he's done since arriving in the Capitol.

There's no choice though, not with half his family still back in Twelve. He'd be able to protect Madge and Rory here, but any moves he'd make could easily be retaliated against with his mom, Posy, and Vick all back home.

It's an unwinnable situation, and now more than ever he understands the sick situation Madge has been in every time she's been sent to this candy colored hell.

No matter how angry or frustrated you are, disgusted or scare, all you can do is smile. It's all they'll accept from you.

The early morning serenity is shattered by Trinket's shrill voice shouting at them through the keyhole.

"Up, up, up my dears! It's a big, big, big day!"

Rolling over, Gale flings one of the decorative pillows at the door. It makes contact with a dull thud and falls to the ground.

"Is she always this annoying, or is she making a special effort just for me?" He asks, mumbling as he buries his face back in Madge's hair.

He thinks she answers, but it's indecipherable, too thick with sleep to be made out.

The late nights of the past few days, party after party, meeting idiot after idiot, have physically worn on her worse than him. Her ankles have swollen and her back has ached, making it increasingly hard for her to stand the needed hours away.

They'd gotten lucky the night before and the club owner had made several avoxes bring her a chair to sit in while greeting guests, but she's still exhausted.

"Today will be a break though," she'd pointed out as she'd collapsed on the bed the evening before. "We'll get to head back early to see the results of the private sessions."

While that's not really a comfort to him, if it gets them away from all the hands, smells, and neediness of the Capitol citizenry, he'll take it.

When Trinket bangs on the door again, threatening to get an avox to unlock it for her, then has a shouting match with Haymitch in the hall about Madge needing her rest, Madge finally pushes herself up and sighs, reaching for the little communicator on the bedside table.

"Let's just get this over with."

Portia shows up a few minutes later, pushing first Madge, then Gale, toward the shower.

"If it'd speed things up we could just get in together," Gale offers, trying to look perfectly innocent.

Portia doesn't even crack a smile.

"I don't have time for your hormones," she tells him, pushing a shirt into his hands and telling him to try it on so she can make adjustments.

An hour later, after having Madge change outfits half a dozen times, sculpt her hair into fragile curls, they're finally ready.

Portia smiles serenely at them, makes a final adjustment to Madge's hair, then gives them both a kiss on the cheek.

"I'm sorry I'm in such a rush," she tells them. Her expression morphs into a scowl. "I just want to get to Elvira and Cistel to make sure they don't make any unauthorized alterations to the interview outfits. Cinna messaged me and said they were looking at the patterns again."

And considering that the day before when Cinna, Portia's partner since Madge's prep team had all moved on, had been up helping them get ready he'd mentioned translucent material and Elvira's increasing desire for Rory to show off more skin, Gale is all for her putting a stop to the other woman.

Kissing them both on the cheek again, she promises she'll see them in the evening before rushing off to defend Rory's privacy.

When they get to the long table, covered in more food than Gale ever imagined, Rory is hunched over a plate laden with food, gnawing on a piece of fruit.

Beside him, looking smaller than ever, is Charity.

She reminds Gale entirely too much of Posy in looks. If it weren't for her starkly different personality, he could almost imagine it's his baby sister sitting at the table, too pale and frightened to eat.

Rory pushes a plate of orange slices at her and gives her an encouraging smile, but she doesn't manage to return it.

Picking up a slice of toast, Gale starts to hand it to her, despite the fact that she hasn't so much as looked up at him since he'd arrived, but before he can, Trinket hurries in.

"Oh Rory, you need more than that!" She snaps her fingers at the little blonde headed avox girl in the corner. "Get him a few sausages and some eggs." She beams at Rory, completely ignoring Charity. "You need all your strength for the session."

Glaring at her, Rory wipes his mouth on the back of his hand before standing up. "I'm full." He jerks his head at the doorway. "Let's head down, Char."

Nodding, Charity half jumps out of her seat and scurries after him, leaving Trinket looking irritable.

She huffs, turning to Madge and giving her an exasperated look. "We're going to have to beat some manners into him, aren't we, Madge?"

Ignoring her, Madge sips a cup of water and nibbles on a pastry, waiting a moment before sighing.

"I should go give them a pep talk."

She hurries out in the direction they'd disappeared, Gale trailing after her, and Trinket calling out, "And tell him he was rude!"

Rory and Charity are waiting by the elevator with Haymitch when they catch up with them.

"Just play to your strengths and you'll get a decent enough score," he tells them, even though he knows it's pointless. Their scores will mean next to nothing when all is said and done.

It's part of the show for Snow though.

Rory nods, jaw set, but Charity just shrinks further.

"I don't have any strengths," she mutters, more to Rory than Haymitch, who she seems to find a little intimidating.

"You did great with the plant identification," Rory tries to encourage her. "And Atala said lots of Tributes die of exposure and starvation. It's not all about strength."

Gale's happy Rory is trying to lift her spirits, but if Charity has paid attention to the Games of her life she'll know that's not all true.

Exposure and failure to survive alone does kill a few, but not being able to outsmart the worst predator alive, the other Tributes, still kills most.

"The private session is though," she reminds him, her eyes down and her fingers fraying the hem of her shirt.

Much as Gale wishes there were something to say to comfort her, there isn't. She knows he's rooting for Rory, more than Madge even. Any kindness he'd give her would ring false.

Madge still reaches out and gives the girl's shoulder a small squeeze.

"I didn't have any real strengths either, but I managed a decent enough score. You'll be okay."

Charity looks anything but comforted by that, but still nods slightly as her eyes focus on the ground.

The elevator chimes and she rushes in, mumbling something that sounds like a thank you at them as she does.

"Just...do your best," Gale tells Rory, giving him a quick hug.

Rory snorts. "Why bother? I've got this thing in the bag, right?"

With that he follows Charity's path away, leaving Gale with a lump forming in his throat.

Once the elevator lights start dropping, indicating the pair are descending to their last day in the training room, Haymitch sighs.

"Well, you be careful at your party today, Pearl," he tells Madge, shooting Gale a look that plainly says he's responsible for any damage she might incur.

Madge frowns. "You aren't coming?"

He shakes his head, pulling her into a hug and kissing her forehead.

"Got some things to do today. Easier to do with the world watching you."

It's cryptic to Gale, means even Haymitch is helping with the plan, though Gale can't imagine how.

If he's willing to leave Madge though, he must think it's important. He wouldn't abandon her for anything less than certain necessity.

The elevator chimes again and Haymitch guides Madge in, letting Gale trail behind them.

"If you hurry maybe you can leave the glitter harpy behind."

Despite the fact that it's Haymitch saying it, it's still funny, and Gale almost manages to stifle a chuckle as the elevator doors slide shut without Trinket in sight.

#######

Ms. Trinket caught up with them before they were even to the front doors.

Madge hadn't really wanted to leave her behind. She had been really very helpful and as thoughtful as she was capable of being throughout the past few days, and she'd made sure people didn't forget Madge needed to eat and drink. Still, she was driving her a bit nutty.

She's also taken more than a passing liking to Gale.

"If she pinches me one more time…" Gale grumbles as they sit in the elaborate garden of some overpaid politician, sipping lukewarm drinks that are supposed to keep them eternally youthful looking.

He's kept his temper in check, which has been no small task. The people of the Capitol have no sense of personal space when it comes to their Victors, and on more than one occasion Madge has seen Gale chewing his tongue, swallowing down sharp words and rebuffs.

The thought of his mother, Vick, and Posy, all still trapped in Twelve, far from his protection, has kept him more in line than anything. Madge is certain if they were there with them, he'd be all but demanding a more active role. Sitting back and letting things unfold around him is against his nature, and Madge can see it eating him from the inside out.

Still, the fact that they're almost to the end of the charade has to be easing things for him. At least she hopes it is.

One way or another, it'll all be over soon.

Taking Gale's hand, Madge gives it a squeeze, hoping it calms him even a little.

"She's just fond of you," she tells him, even though she's getting irritable with their escort.

Gale isn't hers to touch, and Madge has almost told her off for her frequent grabs over the past few days. Only remembering that Ms. Trinket could so easily unravel their plans with one thoughtless sentence keeps her from speaking her mind.

"Yeah," Gale huffs. "Fond."

Kissing his cheek, Madge sighs, glad they've been tucked into a nook in the garden, their visitors limited. The seclusion and the seating making her physically grateful.

A few minutes pass, an elderly woman, made up in the manner of someone much younger, chats with them, but Madge doesn't hear a word. It's all the same anyways, name suggestions-all horrid-advice for the wedding, suggestions on birthing techniques...things Madge neither wants nor needs help with from complete strangers.

"Like she knows anything about breastfeeding," Gale grumbles, snatching up his empty glass and giving the ice a shake. "Those things are fake. She's gotta be eighty and they're still…"

He struggles for an appropriate word, his nose pulled in disgust.

"Perky?" Someone quickly offers.

Finnick drops into the seat across from them, grinning as he picks up a shrimp and inspects it before biting into it.

"Yeah," Gale mutters, tipping a few ice chips into his mouth and cracking them loudly.

Shrugging, Finnick turns and glances, between the shrubs, to where the woman had toddled off to.

"She's gone up a few sizes since we dated."

Both Madge and Gale grimace.

Looking untroubled, Finnick turns back to them. "Where's daddy dearest? Effie smother him with a pillow?"

Gale mumbles something that sounds like 'I wish' and Madge shakes her head.

"He had...things to do."

Finnick doesn't question it, just nods thoughtfully, clearly knowing there's more to Mr. Abernathy's absence than any of them are aware of.

"Well, you look ravishing without his shadow looming over you. Sunlight does you good."

Madge snorts and rolls her eyes.

She's thinking of an appropriate response when yet another guest drops down at their table.

Birdy is smiling, but it's tight, different from her normally cold one. Something is wrong.

Her wary eyes aren't on Madge though.

"Hello, Finnick," she says, her eyes a little too wide, her posture a little too stiff. "Nice day?"

Finnick doesn't seem to notice her tense appearance, not that Madge can fault him for missing it. Birdy acts oddly so often it's not hard to do.

Grin still in place, Finnick shrugs. "Always a nice day when the Games are right around the corner."

Madge forces a bright, affirmative smile at that, but notices Birdy's doesn't so much as flicker up as she begins fiddling with a spoon on the table.

She glances around, so subtly even Madge almost misses it, before snatching up a wrapped candy and slowly opening it.

"The president brought Annie in," she quickly tells Finnick, so softly her voice is almost indistinguishable from the babble going on around the table. "He thinks you've been too close with these two."

The color drains from Finnick's face, leaving him a faint, pasty shade.

Madge feels her stomach drop. This is her fault. She'd enjoyed having Finnick as company so much she'd forgotten what dangers it could potentially bring.

This makes the tabloid stories about Madge flirting with Finnick and Gale spending too much time with the crowds of women that flock to him seem even stupider than they originally had.

Annie being in President Snow's hand, literally, is a disaster. She's too fragile, too sweet, to be subjected to whatever horrors might be in store for her.

Over the years since her victory, Madge has only seen Annie Cresta a handful of times. She's come to the Capitol only on request, to promote her 'fashion line' which she has no part in, and as part of the Victor party for Four the year prior. Her wide, worried eyes and airy demeanor had continued to endear her to Madge, and they'd stuck close on those rare occasions Annie was forced to come, something that had cemented Madge's friendship with Finnick.

"I can't thank you enough," he'd told her, pretending to teach her to dance one night at a party. "Annie...she normally goes home a wreck. Having a friend here, a real friend, it's helped her more than you can know."

It had warmed Madge, made her feel like she had more of a purpose, knowing she'd helped Annie and Finnick.

Now her association with them has potentially doomed them.

"How could you let this happen?" Finnick asks, voice shaking.

Birdy, wrinkles her nose, not looking up from the half opened candy.

"It's not like I have a lot of say in things," she whispers. She chews her cheek. "He's just trying to mess with your head. He isn't going to hurt her-"

"How do you know!" Finnick begins shredding the napkin clutched in his hands, straining to keep from shouting. "How do you know he won't hurt her?"

"Because she's his leverage," Birdy snaps, briefly glancing up before her eyes drop back to her candy. "He thinks you're trying to give Madgie a happily ever after and he wants this to end as a tragedy. If Madgie gets to keep Dorothy and his little dog too it undermines his power, it makes him fallible, beatable, and he won't have that. He doesn't want us to start getting ideas, thinking we can try to outplay him again, like with Annie and Mason. The best way to keep that from happening? Hurt her allies, put a price on friendship."

And Finnick has definitely painted himself as her ally.

"He wants you unhinged so you won't be able to help Madge."

Despite her assurance, Finnick still looks panicked, pale and shaking.

"When-when is he going to tell me that he-that he took her?" He finally asks, voice still fragile, cracking on 'her'.

Birdy sits back, tosses the half-opened candy to the table, and sighs.

"Tonight, and don't expect him to bring her with him for a visit. He wants you squirming, and nothing does that better than the unknown." She looks at him, her expression stern. "You cannot change what you're doing until then. I just...I didn't feel right about not letting you know."

Gale makes a scoffing noise, apparently disbelieving Birdy's bought of conscious.

Her eyes narrow on him, maybe daring him to question her concern or to warn him not to, Madge isn't sure, before she pushes back from the table with a grinding of her chair.

"See you later."

Finnick stops her, leaping at her and grabbing her hand, terror still coloring him.

"Annie is okay though, right? Have you seen her?"

Madge looks at Birdy, hoping for even the smallest of good news.

A tiny smile flicks up on Birdy's lips. "I haven't seen her, but the avoxes tell me she's okay. He wants her to torture you with, not kill her, just remember that."

With that she spins on her heels, crossing her arms and glaring up at a person blocking her way.

Anton had snuck up sometime during the conversation, but Madge hadn't noticed. The oversight knots her stomach. She's being sloppy, unaware, and that's dangerous.

His dark hair is artfully messy, a stark contrast to the well tailored suit his stylist has dressed him in. He crosses his arms and narrows his eyes as he stares down at Birdy, not blinking.

"So there is a heart in there."

Birdy's eyes roll. "Don't get your hopes up."

Without so much as an 'excuse me' she brushes past him, vanishing into a gap in the hedges.

For a second Anton stares at the empty space, contemplating things that Madge is sure would give her a headache, before taking up Birdy's vacated seat.

"She's right, Fin." He forces a smile for Finnick. "Annie will be okay. She's all he has on you. He won't waste his leverage."

Finnick looks no more comforted by Anton than he did by Birdy, but nods absently. Still tearing his napkin to tiny bits.

Silent minutes pass, broken by the laughter of the Capitol people around them, before Finnick abruptly pushes away from the table and mumbles something Madge thinks must be a goodbye before rushing off, into the crowd.

There's still a show to put on, and the mindlessness of it might help him put his worries to rest for a small while.

Madge watches him go, wishing she'd had the foresight to keep Finnick at arm's length, before she feels Gale's hand squeeze hers.

"I'll keep an eye on him," Anton reassures Madge, his smile faint before he turns to better look at Gale. "So you're Madge's beau?" His smile brightens, eyes crinkling up, twinkling. "I guess I should congratulate you."

Gale takes breath. "Thanks."

Turning back to Madge, Anton plucks up Birdy's discarded candy and finishes opening it.

"You're talking to her again?" Madge asks, despite not being certain she wants the answer.

She hasn't seen Anton since the night of her announcement, and she'd stopped asking about him, afraid she was picking at raw wounds with Birdy. Now he's in front of her and she's terrified her lies and mistakes have ruined another person's happiness.

He shrugs. "She was just keeping your secret. Can't say she's not a loyal friend I guess."

Before Gale can make another disparaging noise, Madge steps on his toes and shoots him a quieting look.

A group of women laugh loudly and Madge sees Finnick, no longer pale and frightened, but bright and bubbly, at their center, presumably telling a very amusing story.

Chewing thoughtfully, Anton finally glances over his shoulder, exchanging an almost unperceivable look with Finnick before turning back to Madge and sighing.

"Duty calls." He stands, stretching and cracking, before grinning and winking at Madge. "See you tomorrow night."

He's absorbed into the cluster of giggling women a few seconds later, leaving Madge hoping no one else has to suffer for her sins before the end comes.

#######

Haymitch won't tell them what was so important he'd left Madge to only Gale's watchful eyes for a whole afternoon.

"It needed to be done," is all he gives up, right before encouraging Madge to drink more water.

Gale's more curious about it than he lets on, Madge can tell by the way his eyes follow Haymitch out the door, but his curiosity is eaten out by his worry about the scores.

"They'll give him a decent score," Madge promises him. "The women will make sure of it."

That obviously does little to ease Gale's mind. Rory scoring well because of a bunch of perverted old women might actually seem worse than scoring low to him.

When he voices that concern, Rory just rolls his eyes.

"Well then pretend I knocked 'em senseless with my amazing archery skills."

"Did you?" Gale asks, looking increasingly antsy.

Rory shrugs. "I dunno. I mean, I wasn't bad. You've seen me shoot."

And according to Gale, he's average, but average might be amazing to these people, and that hopefully comforts Gale as he paces along the roof.

"Wish I knew what Charity did," Rory says, picking one of the gently glowing hydrangeas and plucking it apart, letting the blossoms float to the ground at his feet. "I told her to play to her strengths, but she's right, she's not strong and that's what impresses them."

Madge scoots closer to him on the low slung wall they're both sitting on, taking his hand and patting it.

"Charity will be fine. The lowest score they ever give is a five since the Sixty-Seventh Games."

Before that, getting a four or a three wasn't unheard of, in fact, it was common. After her Games though, Birdy had convinced many of the Gamemakers that scores that low dampened excitement.

"I mean, where's the drama if a two scorer goes up against a nine? Or even two three scores? None. Five is a nice, middle of the ground score, unassuming, you know?"

Finnick frowned deeply and asked, "Didn't you argue yourself to a seven during your Games?"

She shook her head. "I did not argue. I asked." Her hand waves lazily at him. "And I overshot a bit in my own case."

Not even Johanna Mason had been able to intentionally get her score lower than a five. Something she'd complained about to Finnick on multiple occasions it seemed.

"She'll never forgive you for that," he'd teased Birdy.

Expression darkening, Birdy had simply shrugged. "She's got a lot she'll never forgive me for, the least of which is her score."

Birdy's meddling will at least guarantee Charity doesn't receive a zero for bursting into tears and running from the room.

Rory huffs, not looking comforted as he pulls his hand from Madge's and begins destroying the flower again.

They stay on the roof until it's time for the scores to be announced.

Charity stays curled on the chair farthest from the group, her red rimmed eyes never straying from the television.

Ms. Trinket practically dances around, all but singing that she's on the cusp of having another Victor. Madge has to stop Mr. Abernathy tripping her more than once as the evening progresses and Ms. Trinket gets increasingly tipsy.

"It'd look like an accident," he tries to convince her. "She'd just fall and snap her neck, no one would ever know."

When she spills her drink on Charity, then yells at an avox for her own clumsiness, Madge is sorely tempted to let him.

Despite her irritation, Madge shakes her head and refuses to let him so much as attempt his accidental homicide.

By the time the scores are beginning to be announced, everyone is in a bad mood, cranky and snapping at one another, partly from nerves and partly from Ms. Trinket's drunken antics.

The first two districts are predictable enough, nines and tens, Three is forgettable, Four solid nines, and the rest a blur of average to low. Madge barely pays them any attention other than to note the curly haired girl from Ten that had been watching Rory before the chariot parade gets a ten while her partner, a wiry boy with a grumpy demeanor, only manages a seven.

Finally, Rory's face fills the screen.

It's a good picture, despite being a school photo. His hair is a little messy, but deliberately so, his uniform looks freshly pressed, and he's got a painfully familiar smirk hanging on his lips.

He looks a little wild, but handsome, a winning combination. The boys from One and Four look weak and childish compared to him.

Dull commentary carries on for a few moments more before Rory's score finally flashes on the screen.

Eleven.

Madge barely has time to register the number, before Ms. Trinket squeals in delight, flinging herself at him.

"Oh, I just knew you'd do well!"

Elvira and Cistel clap and grab at him too, almost knocking him to the floor.

Their happiness is so loud, so obnoxious, that Madge can't even hear Charity's score, just sees her bright face on the screen, beaming at the audience as a large six forms over her.

While Rory wrestles away from Ms. Trinket, kicking Cistel and Elvira off, with a little help from Gale, Madge goes to Charity, sitting softly beside her.

"You did really well," she tells her. "Six is a good score for someone your age. I only got an eight."

And only for having chatted up the scorers. Madge hadn't even attempted to impress them with any skill.

Her words don't seems to comfort Charity, who casts pitiful looks at a still struggling Rory.

"She's right," Mr. Abernathy grunts as he drops into the ottoman in front of them. "You did pretty good for a squirt."

Charity just gives him a frightened nod, edging closer to Madge.

The tussle carries on, to the three women's delight, for several more minutes before Madge gets up and shouts for them to let go.

"And don't touch Gale either!" She snaps when Elvira makes a grab for Gale's leg, almost tripping him.

When they finally untangle themselves, only looking mildly contrite, and the commentary is over, though Madge doesn't hear a word.

She doesn't need to though. She already knows what Rory's eleven means.

President Snow is marking him, setting the eyes of his hungry fellow Tributes on him. Just like toying with Finnick is meant to put cracks in the gamble to save Rory, giving out the highest score to the boy who has already garnered more than his fair share of attention is meant to make life harder for them.

He wants the Games to be unwinnable, and he's doing a good job of it from what Madge can see.

Once she's righted Rory and Gale, with Mr. Abernathy's reluctant help, Madge starts to waddle back to where Charity had been.

Charity is already gone though, with nothing but an empty cup beside her seat to prove she'd ever even been there.

#######

Gale paces the roof the next day, kicking up the debris of wilted flowers, nervous energy threatening to overwhelm him.

Madge is down with Haymitch, trying to give both Rory and Charity last minute pointers before they're taken to the studio for their interview.

"Don't know why we need to bother with the boy," Haymitch grumbled. "He could nap on live television and they'd eat him up."

While Gale isn't so sure about that, he knows Rory's path to victory is paved in gold, at least from Sponsors, he thinks his brother should still tread carefully. Especially since his score was announced.

"So a high score is a bad thing?" Gale had asked as Madge fumbled with the clasp of her bracelet, trying to get ready for bed.

"He's setting him up with a big target on him...a bigger target anyways." She made a frustrated noise and glared at her bracelet. "The others are already going to be gunning for him. The score just makes them want to kill him more, maybe win his sponsors for themselves."

Gale got up and grabbed her hands, stilling the shaking before he unclamped the bracelet for her.

"But...if they-if they kill Rory wouldn't that turn his sponsors against them?"

It would be logical to Gale, but judging by the grim look on Madge's face, that wasn't the case.

"The biggest monster, the one that gives them the best show, that's who they back."

Nodding, the thought of Rory's death being treated as a good show, Gale spent the rest of the night holding Madge close, his hands on her belly, trying to distract himself for long enough to get some rest.

Madge had explained, as she got ready and rushed out of the room that Rory needs to win Snow over in his interview.

Or at least pretend to be trying to.

Grabbing up a handful of vibrant violets, Gale tosses them into the breeze.

They start to fall, but then, as if swatted back up by an invisible hand, they fly back onto the roof, floating to Gale's feet softly.

"What did the landscape do to you?" An obnoxious voice asks as heels click on the ground behind him.

Gale doesn't turn around, just narrows his eyes on the horizon and pretends not to hear her.

Alameda doesn't take the hint, steps around and flops against the wall. "Well?

Grinding his teeth, Gale turns on his heels, ready to stomp off, but stops when she grabs him by the collar of his shirt.

"Hold your horses there, D. We need to chat."

There's nothing he can imagine needing to talk about with her, of all people, but her grip is surprisingly strong as she yanks him back, throwing him into a bush of snapping red buds.

She dissolves into giggles as she watches Gale battle against the buds biting at him, nipping at his suit, for several minutes before he finally breaks free.

Shooting her his filthiest glare, Gale tries to leave again, but she blocks his path.

"What?" He snarls, wondering how long he'd have to wait for her to be thrown back to the roof if he tossed her off.

For a second she chews her tongue, seemingly thinking through her words, then sighs.

"You've got to keep Madge close from here on out," she begins, locking her eyes with his. "Pregnancy and revolution don't exactly mix well."

"I know that." He doesn't need her telling him what to do with Madge.

"Do you?" She frowns, her focus narrowing on him. "This is a dangerous game we're playing...we make a mistake and get caught..."

There's something small in her voice, an uncertainty Gale doubts she lets creep in very often.

"If things go sideways I want you to take Madge and run."

For a second Gale just stares at her, sure he's heard her wrong.

"Run?"

She nods. "President Snow is going to come down hard on all of us if this falls apart, but Madge...you can save her. I have friends in the Peacekeepers here, and avoxes, they'll help you get out."

Gale feels his pulse quicken. "You want us to run?" He feels his face burn. "Like a couple of cowards?"

"I want my friend to get a chance to be a mom. I don't want her executed or tortured. I can't watch that happen. I can't be the cause of that."

There's something fragile in her eyes, threatening to break, and if it weren't for the fact that he thinks it's all part of a show, he'd feel badly for her, maybe even wonder just who she's lost.

It's part of her game though, and Gale refuses to be played.

"What about my family?"

"Madge is your family."

"I won't leave them." He won't abandon them when he's the reason they're in this mess. "Maybe you could, but I can't."

Her eyes narrow and she seems to deflate for a moment, then her back tenses and her teeth grind. "I'll work on something for them then, okay?"

He doubts she's even going to put a thought into it, but then, he's not putting a thought into it either.

His family is too important to him, and he knows Madge won't abandon them either. Alameda's words are wasted on him.

"Fine," he grinds out, planning on telling Madge and getting her opinion on just what her so-called friend is pulling. "But why don't you just focus on not letting this crash and burn."

Her lips twitch. "That is plan A."

A minute passes, and Gale starts to turn to leave, but almost walks into Madge, standing a step behind him.

She peeks around Gale, frowning at Alameda. "Something wrong?"

Not missing a beat, Alameda shakes her head. "Not a thing." She claps Gale on the shoulder. "Just seeing how Dorothy was enjoying the Emerald City."

Grinning, she crosses the roof, practically bouncing down the steps to the door, shouting "See you tonight" over her shoulder as she vanishes from sight.

Madge's frown persists as she turns to Gale, her nose wrinkled. "What was she really doing up here?"

For a second he starts to tell her everything, just like he'd planned, but stops.

Madge has enough on her plate without worrying that her crazy friend is having doubts about their plan. Everything is going to go well, there's not going to be a reason for Gale to run with Madge.

They wouldn't run even if they could.

And if there is a reason, he'll deal with it when it comes.

Pulling her to him, Gale presses a kiss to her hair before resting his cheek on her head.

"Nothing." He sighs. "Just being a pain in the ass."

#######

The studio is pulsing with the eager reporters and the citizens lucky enough to get tickets to the show. It was another sellout, just like in years past, but the box office reports made sure everyone knew just how rapid the seats had sold.

"Didn't even last fifteen minutes!" Ms. Trinket told them brightly. "A record time! Better than the Quarter Quells even!"

Madge wishes she could say that's a comfort, but even news she knows will please the President only serves to make her queasy.

She'd spent most of the day trying to prepare Charity, but the poor girl could barely muster the energy to even pretend she cared.

"There's no point," she'd told her.

"There's always-"

"There isn't!" Charity finally snapped, tears springing to her wide gray eye, blinking out and down her too thin cheeks. "Rory's the one you want to win anyways. He's your family. Just leave me alone!"

She'd run off and disappeared into her bedroom after that, not even emerging for lunch despite Ms. Trinket's loud insistence.

"Just so rude," she muttered before giving Rory a fond look. "Not like you."

Both Rory and Gale made retching noises when she turned her back

The day seems to go both very slow and entirely too fast. Long hours seemingly evaporate around them as they inch closer to the interviews, until finally they're being shuffled away, all their time up.

Gale is sent, to his apparent disgust, to sit in the crowd with the stylists.

"I'm gonna hit one of them," he mutters, his rough lips brushing the sensitive skin behind Madge's ear right before he sighs and presses the first of a dozen kisses to her neck.

It's one of the few things he seems to actively enjoy about the Capitol, the fact that they encourage his love of physical affection. The camera loves it, and Gale has no problem obliging.

Mind getting fuzzy, a danger considering the circumstances, Madge catches his lips in a quick kiss before giving him the tiniest of shoves.

"Just don't do it in front of the cameras," she echoes Birdy's often given advice.

Cutting the twittering pair an agitated look, Gale sighs before nodding.

Once he's gone, Madge gives her full attention to her Tributes.

Mr. Abernathy lounges lazily on a chaise, sipping on what Madge dearly hopes is sweet tea, while Charity frets, fumbling with one of the glowing spines that decorates her dress.

She doesn't look any older in her new attire, in fact, the heavy makeup and fancy dress only seem to amplify just how young and small she is.

Madge forces a brave smile for her, but Charity only manages a doleful look in response.

Heart sinking, Madge looks for Rory.

He's dressed simply in a well cut suit and crimson shirt spangled in the same blazing stones that decorate Charity's dress. It's a little tacky to Madge, but considering costumes past, it's understated and thoughtful.

Walking to where he's leaning against the wall, Madge crosses her arms and squints toward what he's looking at.

The girl from One is wearing a painfully revealing dress of the thinnest material possible, and despite looking entirely comfortable in it, Madge wonders if she truly is.

Her District partner hasn't fared much better, but considering the interviews are supposed to be 'classy' he'd been forced to at least wear pants. His shirt is the same translucent material as the girl's though.

Following Rory's eye line, Madge realizes the scantily dressed girl isn't the focus of his gaze.

The curly haired blonde from Ten is chatting happily with her district partner, who looks surly and uncomfortable by comparison.

She seems to trying to get a laugh out of him, animatedly miming something before dissolving into a fit of giggles. Her partner doesn't so much as crack a smile.

Glancing over, she catches Rory's eyes and gives him a little wink before turning back to her stoic partner and resuming her attempts to get a smile out of him.

"She's pretty," Madge says, starling Rory, causing him to slip slightly on the wall.

He quickly straightens out, reaches up and tries to settle himself by smoothing his already perfect hair.

"Who?"

Madge's lips twitch. "Don't pretend you weren't looking."

Rolling his eyes, Rory snorts. "Fine, but she started it." He jerks his head toward the girl. "She's been flirting with me during training."

Madge doubts that, considering Rory's track record, but nods anyways.

"Doesn't matter," he mumbles. "All things considered."

Nodding again, Madge gives him a small smile, glad he remembers they're still putting on a show for President Snow and he can't so much as hint that the girl from Ten might have a future.

He's the only one he needs to admit has a future.

For one fleeting second, Madge imagines just what kind of Victor Rory would be if their endgame weren't the fall of the Capitol.

He'd be every bit as popular as Finnick and Anton and even Gloss, just as charismatic, never a quiet evening. They'd have him out on the town, run ragged, pulled apart, in days.

It's unthinkable and Madge quickly shakes the images forming in her mind away.

Mr. Flickerman's voice booms, echoing through the back and quieting the hum of chatter that the Tributes and Mentors had been settled in.

"Guess it's now or never," Rory mumbles, hand jumping to his hair, raking through it and undoing Elvira's hard work.

Madge swallows down bile that's risen in her throat and nods, pops on her toes and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek.

Rory snickers. "And to think you wouldn't even let me hug you a few weeks ago."

Despite the dire situation, Madge laughs and pulls Rory into a bone crushing hug.

"Be careful," she gives him a final warning before he's ushered into line.

She watches him for a moment before she feels a warm hand on her arm.

"Let's get you off those feet, sweetheart."

Her aching feet agree with him, so with one last worried look, she lets Mr. Abernathy tug her out of the hall.

Her stomach rolls and she closes her eyes.

She hopes Rory's half as charming on stage as she thinks he can be, holds his tongue, plays this stupid game.

Their lives might just depend on it.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: Once again, thanks to Nursekelly for the help.

By the time Charity makes it to the stage Madge's stomach is threatening to come out her mouth.

The Careers all make good impressions, play the audience expertly. They smile and compliment their hosts, act their parts as Mr. Flickerman asks his pre-written questions, careful printed out on glitter covered cards.

The boy from Three, underfed and ashen skinned, fumbles badly, stuttering his answers and looking close to tears as Mr. Flickerman finishes the interview.

Eight's girl has such a soft voice her answers barely reach Madge's ears.

The rest slip by, forgettable and unimpressive until the curly haired girl takes the stage.

She's not as pretty as the Career girls, but there's something commanding about her walk onto the stage that draws the audience's attention. When she smiles Madge sees her front teeth are crooked and the apples of her cheeks are sprinkled with freckles that her stylist had clearly tried to erase with pounds of makeup.

Taking the seat across from Mr. Flickerman, she waves brightly to the crowd.

Playing the crowd seems engraved in her, and Madge half wonders if Birdy got pestered into lending her expertise to the girl before shaking the thought off. Birdy would've told her fellow Victors about the plan and refused to waste precious time training Tributes. Maybe the girl is just a natural.

"Chaparral Chautauqua," Mr. Flickerman introduces her, his smile never faltering. He settles in his seat and fixes her in his bright gaze. "How are we enjoying your time in the Capitol Chaparral?"

She smiles wider, the crookedness of her teeth more evident under the blazing lights of the stage.

"It's amazing, Mr. Caesar!" She beams out at the crowd. "I never knew there were so many lights! Everything glows here! It's like being around fireflies all the time!"

There's a ring of dishonesty in her voice, the familiar strain of trying too hard, but the audience doesn't seem to hear it. They're all too busy being won over by her faux folksiness to notice.

"We don't have fireflies in the Capitol," Mr. Flickerman tells her, feigning disappointment.

She makes a face, pretending to be horrified. "That's awful!"

"It is!"

She shakes her head. "That won't do Mr. Caesar. You know, when Rory wins, I think you should have him open an exhibit for fireflies and butterflies and all the little pretties we have out in the Districts. I think the stylist would love the new inspiration."

Mr. Flickerman doesn't say anything, his mouth a little slack, clearly uncertain how to handle one Tribute already conceding to another.

His smile dims a little as he shakes the momentary snag off.

"But what if you win?"

"Oh I won't," she answers, already shaking her head. "See, I'm here with my brother-not by blood, but Sorrel and me've been together since we were toddles-and, well, just like Rory couldn't stand to see his little brother sent to the Games, I can't stand to leave mine in them."

The audience seems confused, mumbling and murmuring to itself as Chaparral continues to keep her fake smile tacked on.

"Rory's gonna win. He's smart and so handsome!"

Madge glances around, sure she's hearing things, to where the Victors from Ten are seated.

They're all on their feet, but they don't look concerned, just resigned and a little flustered.

It's an act, Madge is sure of it. They'd put their Tribute up to this, but they have to feign irritation. Always acting for the cameras, which are undoubtedly catching them in this odd moment.

"He's polite too. Just the gentleman the Capitol needs."

Despite her unconventional interview, Chaparral gets loud applause as she stands to leave.

For a minute Madge isn't sure what she's just witnessed, it isn't until District Ten's boy, wiry and dark, expression settled and determined, takes the stage that she realizes Chaparral might have reasons all her own for endorsing Rory.

Sorrel Post is as somber on stage as he was behind it. Squinting, Madge can see it's less stoicism and more fright. His dark skin is shiny with perspiration and his eyes keep shifting, from Mr. Flickerman and back to Chapparal, just barely in his field of vision.

"So Sorrel," Mr. Flickerman begins, not looking wholly thrilled with the way his last interview went, "how are you enjoying your time in the Capitol?"

The boy seems to study Mr. Flickerman for a minute, forming words on his lips, as if working out what the other man had said, before nodding.

"I like it," he finally answers, not looking completely convinced of his response.

There's something off in his voice, not quite stilted, not entirely a lisp, as if he doesn't normally talk.

The conversation only carries on for a couple more questions that take Sorrel several minutes to work out and answer in small sentences, before Mr. Flickerman finally forces his smile up and lets the Tribute be ushered to the seat by his partner.

Madge misses the girl from Eleven's interview, she's too absorbed in watching Sorrel and Chaparral.

They don't talk, lean in and whisper, but they seem to communicate with their hands, making strange gestures and nodding while the interviews carry on.

It finally clicks.

"He's deaf."

And no matter how capable he is, how strong he might be, or clever or handsome, the Capitol wouldn't allow him to win.

While the Capitol loves their Victors, accepts them even in pieces after the Games, they have little tolerance for Tributes they see as already broken, and Sorrel certainly would've fallen into that category.

Sorrel Post was as good as dead the minute his name was called, and his friend would've known that. She wouldn't have been able to save him if she tried.

Maybe she hadn't been put up to it, Madge thinks, her heart tightening in her chest. Maybe she'd simply seen Rory as a kindred spirit. He'd Volunteered to save his brother, a luxury she wasn't given the option of, and so she'd decided to support him.

It made as much sense as anything else.

Finally, Charity steps onto the stage, a weak smile barely holding to her features.

The dress almost looks too long, her pointed shoes don't even peek out from under the hem, and her hair, which Madge thinks was piled on her head to give her height, gives her the appearance of someone wearing a very strangely shaped hat.

All the bright lights combine with the heavy makeup, washing her out. She's pale as a corpse, only her ruby red lips and smoky painted eyes give her any color.

Mr. Flickerman speaks kindly to her, and Madge is grateful he so quickly got over the strangeness of the last interviews. She also hopes Charity hadn't heard a word of it. The last thing she needs is to think there's yet another person supporting Rory, and one that will be in the arena with her no less.

He asks about her family and she softly tells him about Chenille's pregnancy, her excitement over being an aunt for the first time, Chesney and Chastity and their parents, little details Madge wishes she'd thought to ask the poor girl about.

There's been so little time though, too much to do to save both she and Rory, and Madge closes her eyes, feels tears slide down her cheeks.

Even if she manages to save them both, she's failed Charity more than a little. She's made her believe her life is negligible, and that's not a feeling a person gets over easily.

Quickly wiping her face, hoping the cameras hadn't seen her moment of weakness, Madge feels Gale's hand on her knee, squeezing it.

Looking sideways, she sees him staring worriedly at her, mouth a thin line as he studies her.

He mouths the word 'okay?' and Madge nods, her shining eyes focusing back on the stage where Charity is finishing up.

"It was a delight to meet you, Charity," Mr. Flickerman tells her, no hint of insincerity in his voice as she stumbles over her feet, quickly trying to get to her next seat.

Shaking off the cold sensation of failure, Madge narrows her gaze on the stage.

The last Tribute, Rory, is up.

"And now, for our final interview of the night, Rory Hawthorne-the Boy that Burned!"

Rory emerges, his olive complexion appearing smoldering against the crimson shirt and coal black suit.

His smile is false, but believable enough as he waves to the crowd, causing a few women behind Madge to swoon.

It takes several minutes for the audience to calm, Mr. Flickerman wags a reprimanding finger at them before they finally grow quiet enough for the interview to begin.

"Well Rory, you've taken the Capitol by storm, haven't you?"

Glancing toward the audience, Rory grins. "Have I?"

The screaming begins again as Mr. Flickerman roars with laughter.

"As if you haven't been told," he finally chuckles as the screaming is silenced by threatening Peacekeepers standing in the shadows. "Between your brother and Magdalene you've probably gotten more coverage than any Tribute in the history of the Games."

"That's more Magdalene's doing than Gale's," Rory tells him, smile never slipping.

"Well, your brothers had a small part in it."

"The smallest part, I promise you. Poor Madge probably does all the heavy lifting."

That sets the audience off again.

Madge knows the cameras are on her so she rolls her eyes and pats Gale's hand, now squeezing her knee almost painfully.

Glancing sideways enough to see him, she finds his face deeper in color and his eyes narrowed on his brother. Clearly Rory's implications aren't as funny to him as they are to everyone else.

"Gale," she says his name through gritted teeth and strained smile, "the cameras."

He may want to strangle his little brother in this moment, but he can't lose sight of the big picture.

A smile that could freeze blood slowly forms on his lips and his death grip on Madge's knee loosens.

"If we survive this," she hears Gale growl through his smile, "I'm gonna kill him."

#######

The interview goes predictably.

Rory is an obnoxious little asshole on national television and makes insinuations while Gale is forced to sit and laugh and pretend to find the whole situation amusing.

He doesn't.

"Now, Rory, you may not want to get too cheeky with your family. Your brother still looks a little taller than you."

Rory holds up his hand, his thumb and his finger less than an inch apart as he laughs. "Only by a hair."

And if Rory doesn't watch his mouth he's going to get his head shaved and never make up that 'hair' of difference.

Laughing, loudly and irritatingly to Gale, Flickerman chuckles at Rory.

"Well, if you win maybe you'll outshoot him."

"If?" Rory waves a hand dismissively. "When I win this."

Flickerman nods. "Very confident. You know, your fellow Tribute seems to think you've got these a Games tied up too."

For a second Rory's smug smile slips and confusion colors his features as he glances behind him to where the other Tributes sit, trying to determine which one had promoted him.

"The lovely Chaparral seems to believe you'll come out on top too."

The curly haired girl gives Rory a small smile from her seat, and for a moment he seems too stunned to speak, before finally fixing the fake smile back on his face and turning back to Flickerman.

"She's got the right idea then, doesn't she?"

"Or maybe a little crush?" Flickerman prompts him, eyebrows arched and tone suggestive.

Gale huffs.

If that idiot is trying to start some dopey teenage romance during the Games he's an even bigger asshole than Gale thought.

Rory seems to find the thought just as ridiculous. His mouth turns sharply down and his eyebrows scrunch together.

"The Games aren't really all that romantic. At least not to me."

"That'll be a comfort to your girl back home won't it?"

Cringing, Gale knows exactly what Flickerman is pulling. He'd asked almost the exact same slimy question to Madge, tripping her up during her interview.

Maybe Rory's more clever than Gale's given him credit for, or maybe he's just got Gale's good memory, because he just grins. "Might be."

The crowd shouts, begs him to answer, but Rory only grins in response.

"Well you've got at least one supporter in the arena."

Flickerman glances over his shoulder to where the girl from Ten is hiding her face behind her hands, then he laughs again, softer this time, before patting Rory on the knee.

"Maybe she's just seen the writing on the wall." His smile widens and he looks to the audience. "And that's that this young man is on his way to becoming our next Victor!"

The entire studio is on its feet in seconds, yelling, chanting 'Rory, Rory, Rory' as Flickerman takes Rory's hand and raises it up.

"Ladies and gentlemen, say goodnight to the Rory Hawthorne from District Twelve, the Boy that Burned!"

All the yelling amplifies, vibrating through the air, electrifying the entire studio as Rory is usher off the stage with the other Tributes.

People begging crowding in around them and Peacekeepers form a protective barrier between the Victors, stylist, and escorts and the hungry audience now clawing to get to them.

Gale sees Finnick for half a second, plastic smile and empty eyed, waving to glittery men and women, causing several to shriek and collapse at the idea he'd acknowledged them. A moment later and Finnick is gone, swallowed up in a sea of hands and multicolored wigs as the Peacekeepers help him fight his way out.

Madge's diamond nail cut through the expensive suit Portia had dressed Gale in as she pulls him with her, the opposite direction of Finnick, toward what he can only hope is an escape route.

With the Peacekeepers shoving and yelling commands at the unhearing crowd, Gale feels himself pressed in on from all sides. Hot breath and high pitched screaming filling his senses as he's half dragged from the studio. It's a nightmare, and he can't imagine Madge dealing with this Capitol nonsense the past few years.

It takes several minutes for them to push through the throngs, into the not quite quiet backstage.

The hum of humanity, the still starved for contact audience, buzzes around them as Gale tries to get his bearings. Years in the mines hadn't left him half as disoriented as the Capitol's citizens just had.

"Your Tribute really riled them up," a woman says.

Turning, Gale finds a woman, not old but older than him, smiling curiously at Madge.

"He's got our attention too," a stout red-haired man tells her, mouth hidden in a beard but unmistakably turned in a grin.

"All of our attention," a burly dark skinned man adds, clapping Madge on the shoulder.

There's more to their words than Gale can read, he knows that, and he can only hope the strange warmth washing over him is a good sign.

Before anything else can be said, or not said as it seemed to Gale, the Peacekeepers begin urging them out, toward where the Tributes are undoubtedly waiting.

"We'll see you in the morning," a woman, long platinum hair and blood red lips calls out to them as she and several other Victors walk out, her heels clicking on the tile as she gives Madge a cheerful wave goodbye.

Once they're separated again, shuffling down a half lighted hall with Haymitch stumping along behind them, Gale chances a look at Madge and has his worries evaporate in his chest.

Even in the dim light, he can make out the traces of a smile and triumph in her eyes.

He'd guessed right, he's sure of it. The other Victors were giving her clues, and they were good ones judging by the shadows on her face.

Not chancing it that someone is listening, Gale settles on wrapping his hand around Madge's and squeezing it.

She doesn't look at him, but Gale catches her smile twitching up a fraction, feels her cool fingers tighten around his.

Things are going well, there won't be a reason to run.

It's going to be okay.

#######

They don't speak the entire way back to the Twelfth floor.

There's a thick silence around them, even when Rory and Charity rejoin the group. Probably owing to Ms. Trinket's absence. They'd lost her somewhere between the seats and the backstage, and Mr. Abernathy hadn't wanted to wait to find her again.

Madge wishes she could ask Rory about the girl from Ten, but the question hangs in her throat.

She isn't sure if it was a calculated move or a moment of thoughtless abandon, and without knowing she can't get answers, not from Rory at least.

Besides, Charity's somber face kills Madge's curiosity. Now even her fellow Tributes are pulling for Rory, and the realization has damped her already dark mood.

When the doors chime and open Charity is the first out, not even giving Rory a mumbled goodnight.

Instead of rushing off after her, for what's supposed to be his last good night of sleep before the Games begin-a lie if there ever was one-Rory stuffs his hands in his pockets and stares at his feet.

His eyes stay down, then glance up, as if asking permission to speak, and Madge knows why. One of her unasked questions is answered with one timid look.

Rory hadn't planned the announcement with the girl and clearly wants to know if Madge had any part in it.

Shaking her head, just slightly, Madge forces a smile.

"I think I need a little air before bed." She waves toward the hall that leads to the roof access. "You should come too. One last look at this glorious city before the Games."

Beside her, Madge feels Gale tense, sensing the trouble ahead probably.

"Let's make it quick," Mr. Abernathy mumbles, glancing around warily. He jabs a finger at Rory. "This one's got a big day ahead of him."

Gale shoots Mr. Abernathy a filthy look and Rory pales a little, but Madge just herds them down the hall toward the stairs.

The cool air of evening stings Madge's lungs and cuts through her thin dress as she ascends the steps, and her heels slipping a little on the top step. It's wet; it must've rained during the interviews.

Regaining her balance, Madge avoids another puddle as they cross the roof, taking refuge from the fine mist Madge feels in the air under a canopy of lilacs.

Fingers wrapping around her pendant, Madge is still waiting for warmth or coolness from it's unfeeling center when she hears the familiar clicking of heels on the damp roof.

"Thought I'd find you here." Birdy sidesteps a dangling bunch of purple flowers, her nose wrinkling up. "It's just a little mist. Not a reason to hid in the bushes."

"What're you-"

"Well, I'm organizing saving your brother's life and he's being sent into the jaws of hell tomorrow, so that's what I'm doing here," she answers before Gale can finish his question.

Hoping to hold off a fight, Madge grabs Gale's hand and fixes Birdy in a stern glare.

"We came up here to discuss your Tribute's announcement," she tells her. "Why did you come up here?"

Birdy rolls her eyes and presses a finger to her temple. "Ugh. She's not my Tribute. Technically she's Ms. Mary's pain in the ass." She sighs. "Guess I should've taken my own advice and clued our idiot Tributes into the game too. Could've avoided grand gestures on national television that way."

"You didn't put her up to it?"

"Well of course not." Birdy huffs. "I mean, it doesn't make a difference, but it's annoying. Now there's all this talk of 'romance' and 'star-crossed lovers'. It's enough to make me want to vomit or punch someone. All that, during the Games? Foolishness at its finest."

Closing her eyes, Madge presses her fingers to them until she sees stars.

Warm hands wrap around Madge's shoulders and she eases back, relaxes into Gale's chest.

"None of that's important," she hears Birdy say. "I'm not here to talk about delinquent Tributes or Capitol obsessions with doomed love affairs. I'm here to clue you fools in on tomorrow's events."

Slowly, Madge's eyes peek out from behind her fingers and she waits for Birdy to continue.

The other girl seems content to study the dangling purple blooms rather than finish her story though, and Madge sighs in irritation.

Mr. Abernathy makes a frustrated noise, scrubbing his face with his hands before glaring at Birdy. "Spit it out, kid!"

Nose wrinkling up, Birdy crosses her arms. "I was gathering my th-"

"Talk already!"

"Fine," Birdy coolly hisses, her focus turning back to Madge. "Everything is set up. They're going to take the Tributes tomorrow, as scheduled, and they'll be placed into the Arena."

Her eyes cut to Mr. Abernathy.

"Thanks to Mr. Haymitch we know where that is, and that'll make scooping them out less complicated."

She tugs one of the blooms from the purple flowers.

"The Games will start to broadcast and then-"

She snaps her fingers so loudly Madge's ears ring.

"Game over before it begins."

Rory stares at her, his mouth hanging open. "But...how?"

"Details are for us grown-ups, pumpkin," Birdy chirps. "All you need to worry about is not getting squished when we crash in through the roof with our hovercraft."

Gale steps around Madge, a line forming between his eyes as he glares at her.

"And how are the Tributes going to know not to fight?" He steps closer to her. "How are you going to make sure they don't all try to kill each other like they've been planning to do?"

Birdy screws her face up in mock concentration.

"Oh no! If only the Arena were equipped with some kind of projection screen, maybe on the ceiling? And a sound system we could make announcements on." Her eye roll. "Oh wait, it has those things." She gives Gale a smug smile. "Don't try to out think me, Dorothy, you'll just hurt yourself."

Mr. Abernathy snickers, but stifles it when Madge narrows her eyes on him.

Angling herself between Gale and Birdy again, Madge frowns.

"How are you going to make those announcements? The Gamemakers are the only ones allowed in the control room, and they don't exactly broadcast its location either."

In fact, the location of the Control Center is as closely guarded as the Arena itself.

"I've got it," Birdy tells her. "Unlike the Arena, the Control has Capitol citizens in it, and people talk when properly persuaded."

The look of disgust on her face kills Madge's curiosity over just how she'd come by the location. Some things are best left unknown.

"Anyways, we're going to be there, ready to bust in and end this. Mr. Beetee and the others are ready to take over the airwaves, Five is set to cut electricity, the generators are wired to blow...all that'll be left is for us to take out the military installations, which, incidentally, will be most easily done from the Control Center. It's connected to the main satellites"

It's simple, almost unbearably so and Madge's stomach clenches up.

They might have the support of the other Victors, but their plan is so fragile it may not even matter.

Birdy frowns, letting the petals of the now ruined flower float away in the breeze.

"The Capitol will be blind and think we've got their entire military poised to attack it and the Peacekeepers will be receiving warnings that if they try to move against the Districts they'll be eliminated with extreme prejudice."

"Will you?" Gale asks, a shadow obscuring his face.

Madge doesn't like his tone or the glint in his eyes. It's too close to the hunger she's seen on the faces of the people in the Capitol right before the Games. It has no place on Gale's face.

Birdy doesn't seem to care much for it either. Her nose wrinkles and eyebrows knit together as she stares, not speaking for a minute before she sighs.

"Not if I don't have to."

And Madge hopes she doesn't have to. She isn't sure she can live with causing that many deaths on her conscious, even if Gale could.

"What about President Snow?" Madge half whispers.

He's the last snag, the only person that can for certain keep them from overthrowing the Capitol.

Birdy's eyes seem to burn as her lips twitch up.

"Don't worry about him. We've got it taken care of."

A moment passes, Madge hears the happy noises of late night parties on the streets below, people making final deals before the Games begin, then Mr. Abernathy lets out a long sigh.

"When you coming for us in the morning, Bird?"

He looks exhausted and wary, probably already thinking of ways he can get Madge out of the mess Birdy is creating around them.

"Same time as always," she answers, wicked grin forming on her lips. "Let the Games begin."


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: Once again, thanks to Nursekelly for the help.

Madge can't sleep.

Gale pretends to, but Madge knows he's every bit as keyed up as she is.

Pacing, she mumbles something about needing water before creeping out the door and down the hall.

Pausing by Rory's door, Madge listens for the telltale rumble of snoring, but nothing comes. Either Rory is as awake as she is or Gale has exaggerated how loud his little brother is.

A few steps further and Madge presses her ear to Charity's door.

Instead of silence, she gets one thing much worse, the unmistakable shudder of stifled sobs and gasps.

Pulling quickly away, Madge blinks back her own tears and hurries down the hall for a cup of water she doesn't even want.

Sipping on the water, which taste strangely bitter, Madge goes back to her room and finds Gale sitting up, his head in his hands and his elbows to his knees.

He looks up when he hears the door click, his expression guarded.

Madge knows he has a thousand questions, a thousand perceived problems he thinks they might've overlooked, but he bites them back. None of them can be given voice here in her room, where President Snow can so easily hear them.

He's worried though, scared for all of them, and Madge can't stand it.

Sitting her cup down, she crosses to him, running her hands through his hair and standing it on end.

It's much coarser than her own, thick and wild, and she hopes the baby inherits it from him. She hopes it inherits all his good looks.

"It's going to be okay," she whispers, her lips grazing his hair.

It's a benign, innocuous enough to be interpreted as nothing more than a hollow comfort if anyone is listening, but Gale understands.

His hands snake around her, calluses catching on the silken material of her nightgown, crushing her increasingly unyielding middle to his chest.

Peeking up at her through his dark lashes, he gives her half a smile.

Without warning, he swings her around, tossing her onto the bed.

"Gale!"

His chuckle vibrates through his chest as he rolls, pinning her on her back as he begins pressing kisses down her neck.

Despite the situation, the cloud of uncertainty and danger hanging over them, Madge closes her eyes and wraps her arms around Gale's neck, keeping him close. He's trying to distract them both from what's coming, and she's happy to oblige. Having his warmth around her, the heat from his breath on her skin and his kisses burning through her, makes it almost like they're safe, even though nothing could be further from the truth.

His hands dip dangerously low, ghosting up her legs and bunching her nightgown up as his kisses get more insistent.

Part of Madge's mind tells her what they're edging towards is probably not appropriate, definitely isn't, but the other part ignores it. If this is her last night there's no way she'd better like to spend it.

Just as his hands are halfway to pushing the gown over her belly, Madge feels something jab her sharply.

It's just the baby, a little elbow or knee, but it hurts.

She must make a face, because Gale immediately freezes, looking panicked.

"Did I do something?"

He's sitting up, pulling her off her back and propping her against the dozens of pillows strewn across the bed before she can even answer.

"No," Madge quickly tells him, grabbing his hands and tugging him to her. "It was just the baby."

Pressing his hands to her stomach, she watches as his eyes brighten and his face relax.

"This never gets old," he finally sighs, leaning in and catching her lips in a quick kiss before resting his forehead against hers. "Except when it kills the mood."

Madge snorts and reclines into the pillows, unable to keep the weariness from her face.

"It's probably for the best."

Gale groans, pressing his fingers to his eyes then scrubbing his face, raking them up and into his already wild hair. He looks just a shade disappointed, but nods. "Yeah."

Crawling beside her, Gale pulls her closer, his nose nuzzling in her hair, lips pressing to her shoulder and neck.

"We should sleep."

Madge nods, closes her eyes, but her mind is still too busy, full of all the problems that might come up tomorrow.

Rolling, she snuggles closer to Gale.

Even if she doesn't get any sleep, at least she'll be comfortable this one last time.

#######

Gale wakes to the sound of shuffling feet.

He doesn't remember falling asleep, just closing his eyes, but the groggy fog filling his head makes it pretty clear he nodded off at least a little.

There should be a sense of panic, a boiling sensation of fear in his stomach, but all he feels is cold. He's past the point of terror. There's no reason for it, what will be will be.

Squinting into the still muted darkness of the room, Gale sees one of the avoxes moving around, quietly setting out clothing.

When she sees Gale is awake she gestures to the outfits, encouraging him to get up and get dressed.

Still curled into him, Gale feels Madge moving, push herself up and sigh.

"It's time."

She doesn't look like she's slept at all, and Gale feels guilty for whatever moments he was able to steal in the night.

It had been too much like being back in Twelve, and the familiarity had lulled him into a daze.

Rubbing his eyes, trying to force the fuzziness from his mind, Gale misses Madge crawling out of bed and softly padding to the avox.

"Thank you," she whispers as the girl nods and scurries out, the door clicking shut behind her.

Gale isn't sure if this is the way things normally go, he's never been through this before, but the calmness of Madge's movements, the certainty of her expression makes him think it might be.

"We have to get dressed," she tells him, not looking from the simple dress they've put out for her. "Our hovercraft will be here soon."

Mouth too dry to form even a grunt, Gale nods and crawls out after her, almost tripping on a wayward pillow.

They dress in silence, Madge huffing as she tries to adjust the hem of the dress on her top, which is apparently too low for her liking.

Gale almost smirks, he likes the view, but that thought dies quickly when he remembers Madge's neckline would be for more than just him.

The thought makes him skip a button on his shirt and growl in frustration.

Taking pity on him, Madge helps him right the buttons before smoothing out the front of his shirt.

She smiles, a little sadly, before popping on her toes and pressing a quick kiss to his lips.

"Come on."

They make their way down the hall, to the kitchen, then to the entry by the elevator where Haymitch is slumped on a bench.

"Hate these mornings," he grumbles, rubbing a worn hand over his face before squinting up at Madge. "Get any sleep, sweetheart?"

"A little," Madge lies.

Haymitch sighs. "Me either, kiddo."

The sense of impending doom that had avoided him starts to creep in, and Gale crosses his arms, glaring around.

"When do Rory and Charity come?"

Madge gives him a small smile. "They're gone already. Their stylist are with them getting them ready."

Gale feels his stomach turn over. He'd hoped for one last goodbye with his brother. The hug last night on the roof before they'd both gone to bed seems inadequate, pathetic even. He'd thought they'd get to say a real goodbye this morning.

Just like everything else, the Capitol is keeping that from him, and if Rory dies, he'll rain down hell on them.

"What about Trinket?"

Not that he actually cares, but it just rolls out.

"Escorts like to be at the front of everything," Madge explains. "She's probably already at the Mentoring station."

Gale dreads having to see her, even if it is the last time.

Another thick silence covers them, stifling Gale, almost making him want to pace, move, do something to burn off the nervous energy building in his middle, when the elevator chimes in front of them.

It slides open, revealing a cramped compartment of drowsy looking Victors.

Finnick is slouched against the wall, a pair of dark glasses over his eyes. The motherly looking woman is picking at her nails and an older man is reading a book beside her.

The dark haired man, Gale thinks his name was Anton, is yawning broadly, half leaning on an elderly woman that almost looks to be standing in her sleep.

Hidden in the corner behind him, sipping on a cup of something steaming, Gale spots Alameda.

She doesn't look even remotely put together, and if it weren't for her dress, green again, he wouldn't have recognized her.

Her hair is thin, greasy looking and blonde, smashed against her head. It reminds Gale of his hair after being under his mining helmet all day.

For a second they all stare, before a man, small and wiry looking, lopsided glasses sliding down his nose, gestures for them to get in.

"Daylight's burning, as they say."

Not waiting for Haymitch to struggle to his feet, Gale pulls Madge with him into the elevator.

A few curses later, followed by popping joints and more cursing, Haymitch hobbles on, rubbing his lower back with a scowl.

Madge squishes between them as the doors slide closed. It's almost silent except for the humming coming from the unnerving woman with the vacant eyes they'd met only days before.

Gale is glad when the doors chime again, opening up to a slate gray sky and the drizzle of rain. There are no hovercrafts in the blustery sky, only dreary clouds.

Several Peacekeepers rush toward them, holding out black umbrellas and urging the group in sets of two to come out and hurrying them to the waiting hovercraft.

Gale tries to stick with Madge, but Haymitch edges him out, shooting a nasty grin over his shoulder as he steers Madge away.

"Looks like it's you and me, D."

Alameda links her arm in Gale's, forcing him to slouch to her height as she tugs him under her umbrella.

"Nervous?"

Gale doesn't respond, just grinds his teeth and glares out at the bleak rooftop.

"You should be," she carries on, pretending Gale answered her. "Only idiots aren't scared."

"So you're not scared," Gale snaps before he can stop himself.

Her lips twitch. "I've been scared everyday of my life since I was Reaped."

Heels clicking on the ramp leading up to the hovercraft, Alameda begins digging in her ratty bag. Making a triumphant noise, she pulls out what looks like a handful of moss, then makes a disgusted face.

"The humidity is killing me," she complains, her fingers quickly fixing the ringlets before plopping the moss on her head.

"It's a wig?" Gale frowns.

One of her green eyebrows arches as she continues to adjust her hair.

"They shaved my head a few years ago," she explains. "Hair grew back, but wigs are just so convenient."

Gale almost asks her why they shaved her head, but gets cut off by Madge hurrying towards him.

"We need to get to our seats," she tells him, wide blue eyes fearful, searching around for unseen dangers.

She shouldn't, there are plenty of visible dangers to worry about.

Alameda holds up a hand, stopping them and looking toward the ramp, now raising up as the last of the group from the elevator walk on and shake flecks of rain from their clothes.

"Crispy?" She turns to the Peacekeeper that had walked with them up to the hovercraft.

Half-shaven face breaking into a grin, the Peacekeeper nods. "Ready when you are, Bird."

A slow smile stretches into Alameda's face, green lips in her wicked grin.

"Let's go then."

#######

Madge feels the earth shifting under her, lift and sway, as they swiftly fly to their destination.

"We've connected the tracking beacon to a drone," Birdy explained as they took their seats in the back of the hovercraft.

"They think the weather is delaying us," Mr. Latier added. "We've earned a few extra minutes."

Almost smiling, Madge nodded.

The Capitol can control almost everything, by nature is beyond their grasp. Not that she's sure they haven't tried.

"Once the drone gets to the Mentoring Center though…" Cecelia looked pained, chewing her lip, thinking of her children and all the danger they're going to be in the second President Snow knows they aren't going where they should be.

"The President will be on us like wildfire in a dry field," Birdy sighed. "Which is why our stops are going to be fast."

They'd not even landed, just hovered low enough for Mr. Latier, a couple of friendly Peacekeepers, and Wiress to hop out and onto the roof of the building that holds the main computer for Capitol communications.

Cecelia and old Harlen exited with Peacekeeper Crispin to the slippery side of what looked to be a an old playground toy.

"You sure this is the backup generators?" Cecelia asked, her face pulled back in skepticism.

"No, just guessing." Birdy rolled her eyes. "Of course I'm sure."

"We just have to watch, right?" Crispin asked, hesitant to exit the dry hovercraft and land in the soggy ground beside the industry playground.

Birdy nodded. "Just make sure it explodes when it supposed to." She smiled brightly. "And if it doesn't, shoot the damn thing. I've been assured if you're outside the fences here you'll avoid getting flame-broiled."

"Who told you that?" Crispin asked, looking more worried than before.

"Oh, Watt or maybe it was Mrs. Cord…" She waved the question off. "Doesn't matter."

Madge isn't sure if she's just confidant or has completely lost her ability to care, but Birdy's flippant attitude does little ease the turning in Madge's stomach.

Judging by Cecelia's pale face and the way she gnawed her lip, it hasn't helped her much. She'd rushed out under the cover of an umbrella, standing in the steadily increasing rain and watching the hovercraft lift into the air and glide away, anxiety etched in her features.

Going to the window, Madge had waved weakly as they'd lifted up and away, hoping it wasn't the last time she'd see her friend.

They travel, the rain clattering on the sides of the hovercraft, the rattle dampened but not extinguished by the thick material the hovercraft is molded from, until the floor starts to shift under Madge's feet.

Gale, who'd been hunched over, elbows to knees and hands tugging at his hair looks up, eyes narrowed on the hall leading to the cockpit, waiting for Birdy to come back.

Mr. Abernathy stands, one hand gripping an exposed pipe cutting across the ceiling and the other on his hip, his breathing stilled as he anticipates the next move.

It takes a few minutes, but Birdy finally reemerges, a gun gripped in one hand and another strapped to her waist.

Finnick, who'd grown increasingly green, looks her up and down, his lips twitching.

"Well, Happy Hunger Games, Bird."

She chuckles. "For once, it might be."


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: Once again, thanks to Nursekelly for the help.

To say Gale is underwhelmed with the Control Center for the Games would be an understatement.

It's matte gray, rundown, almost vanishing into its surroundings of decrepit buildings, boarded up or with broken windows scattered on their fronts.

"What is this place?"

Finnick glances around and sniffs, makes a face. "The old packing district."

When Gale only acknowledges him with a blank stare, Finnick smiles.

"Before the rebellion, this was the Capitol's main distribution point. The rebels bombed it the heaviest, probably hoping to destroy the Capitol's stores of food." He grimaces. "Might've worked, if the rebels hadn't been betrayed."

The old woman says something unintelligible and Finnick nods, though Gale isn't sure if he actually knows what she's told him.

"They keep everything underground now," Alameda half whispers, her eyes scanning the mist outside the increasingly foggy window. "Keep it in different pods throughout the city, in case something ever happens again. Which is why starving them out isn't much of an option. Even if the inconvenience might make them think they're going to die."

Gale considers asking her if she couldn't have bombed each of the storage facilities, collapse them in on themselves, but holds his tongue. They've probably already considered it and he doesn't feel like having her snide comments thrown at him right before storming into what might be his death.

Instead he just nods and turns to watch her.

She begins opening hidden compartments in the floor. They twist and rise up, exposing what appear to be several tall shelves lined with weaponry. Long guns and short guns, explosives, and something Gale almost recognizes.

Instantly, he reaches for the bow.

It's not like the ones he and Katniss use, it's got a gun-like handle with a trigger and short, thick bolts in place of arrows, but it'll do.

"You might want to go with something a little more automatic," Alameda tells him, pulling the strange bow from his hands and replacing it with a thick rifle.

Gale frowns but doesn't argue. The bolt bow seemed clumsy and heavy, and the last thing he needs while storming the Gamemakers' headquarters is to be slow.

Clicking the bottom, Gale frowns. It feels lighter than he thought it would be.

Examining it closer, he notices the magazine is empty and rolls his eyes. Of course she'd forget to load it.

He walks to the shelf and snatches up a magazine and replaces the old one as Alameda begins giving instructions.

"Alright, you guys are going to wait here while I get through the main doors-"

"You can't take on the entire security team by yourself," Finnick points out.

Alameda's eyebrows rise loftily in a way that lets Gale know she definitely thinks differently.

"Besides, why bring us if you aren't going to let us help?" Anton asks, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

The old woman says something that sounds like an agreement, but it's too slurred and garbled to really tell.

Alameda rolls her eyes. "I'm not about to storm the castle with a bunch of ninnies that've never fired a gun. You'll be more likely to shoot me on accident than you would who you were trying to aim at."

Gale almost mumbles that it wouldn't be a accident, at least not in his case, but keeps the thought to himself.

"That's not our fault," Anton mutters.

Alameda smiles, a bit sadly. "No, just the truth." She points to Madge. "And you're staying in here until we get this place locked down."

"I'm not," Madge snaps. "I want to be a part of this too, Birdy. I am part of this."

Gale wants to agree with Alameda, but the thought of it makes him feel a little ill. Besides, he doesn't want a fight with Madge before whatever comes passes.

Thankfully, Haymitch has no such squeamishness.

"She's right, sweetheart. That's no place for a girl in your condition."

Madge's cheeks flush as she takes a step forward. "That's the only place I belong right now. I'm not an invalid.

"You're p-"

"I'm going in," Madge cuts him off. "I'm not sitting in here. I won't."

She crosses her arms, looking every bit as stubborn as Haymitch as she stares him down, daring him to fight her on this.

Their battle stretches on for several seconds before Alameda sighs. "It's nothing to do with whether you can or not. You'll be a distraction. We have to be focused and we can't be if we're watching out for you."

"You wo-"

"We will." Alameda fixes her in a firm stare. "Don't be a dumbass, Madge. You can't move fast and you'd make a tasty target. Don't put us at risk for your own pride."

Turning, she snatches up another gun and checks it before holstering it to her side and looking back at Madge.

"Well? I haven't got all day."

Madge chews her tongue for a moment, her logic battling with the part of her desperate to be useful before she deflates. "Fine."

"Good," Alameda chirps. "You and Mags will stay with Theo, the avox that's flying us. I need people that can talk for him in here in case things go sideways."

Gale wouldn't call what old Mags does talking, but he seems to be the only one with trouble understanding her, because when she shrugs and sloshes out a response everyone nods in acknowledgement.

Maybe years have taught them to understand her. He just knows he's glad he won't be the one to try to decipher her garbled speech if the time comes.

"Okay, so I'll clear the way then come get y'all yahoos and bring you in."

She holds her hand out, revealing a small, flat disc, then a blue map appears, three dimensional and hovering inches above her palm.

"These are the blueprints for the building." Her face seems to droop as she thinks before speaking again. "It was pieced together by several avoxes."

There's a hint of something more in her voice, and Gale has the sinking feeling the past tense being used to discuss the avoxes is an ominous sign.

She jabs a finger toward the lower corner of the image.

"This is the only entry." Alameda squints into the blue light. "There'll be guards there, but since this place is pretty much invisible, doesn't exist as far as anyone is concerned, they won't be expecting trouble."

"I'll have the element of surprise," she adds, a little too brightly, as the shimmering map vanishes with a snap of her hand. She glares at Finnick and Anton. "So yes, I'm perfectly capable of taking them out."

Going to the controls at the side of the door, Alameda hits one and the hatch opens, the ramp swiftly and silently glides to the soggy ground.

"Back in a few."

Without so much as a backward glance her heels click on the wet metal, vanishing into the drizzling rain.

"How has nobody tried to kill her?" Gale asks, not really expecting an answer.

"She's useful," Haymitch grumbles. "And a few have tried."

Gale almost asks if Haymitch is useful too, because he can't see why else he'd still be alive, but doesn't get the chance.

"No one pays attention to her," Finnick answers. "That's how she won. She's like wallpaper to most people."

"Annoying wallpaper," Gale mutters.

"But still wallpaper." Anton shrugs. "Would you think she could plan anything?"

The honest answer is no. Aside from Madge's faith in her, he hadn't had a good reason to think she could do half of what she's claimed.

Every plan she's made has panned out though.

She's a liar and a brat, but he hasn't got a choice. She's his only hope to save Rory.

That, he supposes, makes her useful.

"Still annoying," he grumbles to himself.

#######

Madge can't sit still.

It makes her furious that she's being left behind, even if she understands why.

She'd be a liability, for everyone involved. They'd want to protect her, she'd be too slow, too easy a target, and she can't go rushing in knowing it would jeopardize the entire operation.

It kills her, but it's the best choice. The right choice.

She paces the length of the hovercraft several times before stopping at the window and squinting into the increasingly heavy downpour before sighing and starting all over.

It must make Mr. Abernathy anxious. More than once he tells her to sit down.

"Wearing yourself out isn't gonna help much, Pearl," he warns her.

She pretends not to hear and does another dozen laps around the inside before Gale catches her and hands her a bottle of water.

"I'm not thirsty."

"Just drink it," he tells her, looking slightly exasperated.

Opening it, she toys with the lid for a moment before taking a small sip.

"What if she doesn't come out?" He asks, his voice a low rumble, just for her.

Madge can't find the energy for a smile, just closes her eyes and sighs.

"She'll have a backup plan for that." She always does. It's her nature.

He doesn't look comforted by that, but nods anyways.

She doesn't blame him. If the situation were reversed, she wouldn't trust Birdy.

Between her constant belittling and endless taunts, it's a wonder Gale hasn't throttled her. Madge is grateful at least one person in her life matured past the age of twelve.

Several more minutes tick by, Madge is sure they're coming up on half an hour, but when she checks her watch it's been less than ten minutes.

Dropping onto the cold metal bench next to Mr. Abernathy, Madge leans her head back against the side of the hovercraft, letting the gentle thrumming of the rain lull her into a half-woken state.

Her eyes have just drifted shut, exhaustion and worry finally overwhelming her, when a blast of muggy air and rain hits her, jolting her to life.

Birdy is soaked to the bone, green hair plastered to her head, dress clinging to her, but she's grinning wickedly in at them.

"Things went smoothly?" Finnick asks, eyeing her cautiously.

She pushes soggy bangs from her eyes. "No, I smile when things go spectacularly wrong."

Finnick's head tilts a little in confusion. "You actually do do that, you know?"

Looking perplexed for a moment, Birdy finally waves a hand dismissively.

"Well, for once things went right." She gestures for them to follow her. "Grab your guns. Games are about to begin."

#######

The inside of the boxy building is no more interesting than the outside.

It's plain, a hallway of blank, gray walls illuminated by sterile white light that stings Gale's eyes.

It smells like the cleaning solution they use at the Justice building, sharp and strong, and the tile on the floor looks unnaturally clean. It doesn't even echo with hollow footsteps as the group walk down it. All that greets them is an unnerving silence and a bone deep cold.

After several minutes of following Alameda, waiting for her to explain something, anything, Gale finally breaks the silence.

"Where are the Peacekeepers?"

His voice sounds too loud, clumsy and heavy in the delicate silence, and he almost regrets speaking. Someone will surely hear him in the brittle air.

"Contained," is all Alameda says.

Forgetting his reserves about the quiet, Gale asks another question.

"How?"

"Well."

Gale starts to snap at her that he wants real answers, not her vague non-explanations, but Haymitch beats him to it.

"Mind speaking in full sentences, kid?"

Alameda's lips twitch, just barely enough for Gale to see, and he gets the distinct impression she's enjoying withholding information from them.

She pushes her soggy hair from her face and tosses Haymitch a sly look over her shoulder.

"I do mind, actually, but since I doubt I'll get any peace if I don't, I'll give you the short version." Her eyes focus back in front of her as she walks. "Caught the Peacekeepers with their pants down, figuratively, thank god. They figured this was the last place anyone would go for. Took their weapons and locked them in a room. Happy?"

Gale isn't. He wants to know where all the trapped Peacekeepers' weapons are, how secure the lock is, if she's willing to shoot to kill if they get out, but he keeps quiet. She'll only give him mocking answers, and he doesn't have time for that. Not now.

They seem to walk for ages, though by his watch it's only a few minutes, the floor gently sloping downward as it sinks in the building.

Finally, they slow, and Alameda presses a finger to her lips in warning, as if they needed one.

They walk a few feet more, around a blind corner, and are greeted by a very solid door.

It matches the wall, almost an extension of it. Gray and undistinguished, not even a knob to open it with, the only thing that gives it away are the thin seams on either side of it.

The Gamemakers must be on the other side, but it's just as stonily silent as the rest of the hall.

Alameda gestures for them to ready their guns, waits a moment, then reaches out and presses her finger to an unmarked patch of wall and makes a swirling motion.

For a second nothing happens, then the wall glows and two large sevens burn yellow on the door before it softly clicks and begins to noiselessly rise up.

They wait until it's completely open before crossing the threshold.

Gale has to squint the second he enters. It's almost like he's stepped through an invisible curtain onto the surface of a star.

It's painfully white and the lights are even more harsh than they'd been in the hall. Unlike the part of the building they'd just wandered through, it's noisy, people chattering just up ahead and the familiar buzz of electricity, louder than the fence back home has ever been. It's overwhelming compared to the emptiness they'd only just traversed.

Their feet stay silent as they slowly make their way forward, to the edge of what seems to be the upper floor, a banister of silver metal keeping them from toppling over.

Curious, Gale follows Finnick's lead and peers over.

Below, all dressed in white and silver uniforms, are people.

They're bustling around, cheerful, excited even, preparing for the main event. The engineers of the Games.

Gale instantly wants to take aim. They're killers who clearly love what they do, and they deserve to die.

These are the people who constructed the Arena Madge nearly died in, nearly killed her, and they deserve no mercy as far as he's concerned.

He shakes the thought away. It's not time for that. Besides, they may help create the Games, but they aren't the architects of the disaster. The Gamemakers are the ones that do that. It's their design that dreams up the Arena. They're the ones that deserve the worst of his ire.

Dragging his eyes from them he takes in the rest of the room.

The entirety of one wall is a screen showing what looks to be an idyllic little town, something out of a novel from the times before Panem. It's got cobbled streets and thatched roofs, and at its center, a town square with a dozen empty platforms surrounding a bronze cornucopia awaiting their sacrifices.

It's the Arena, ready and waiting.

At the far left of the screen Gale spots the Tributes vitals, given in real time. They must've already finished preparing them for the launch.

There's no screen with Flickerman or Templesmith, maybe it would be too much of a distraction. The people in charge of killing innocent children can't have their attention split because of the sick pageantry playing out beyond their walls.

Squinting, he sees Rory's heartbeat registering, beating on a steady green line. It Gale has any say in it, that beat will carry on for years to come.

Before Gale can even ask what the next move is, before he can even drag his eyes from his brother's vitals, Alameda raises her gun and fires at one of the panels making up the video screen.

It shatters, raining down shards of screen debris on the stunned people below.

The hum and buzz vanish, swallowed up in screams and the echo of the breaking screen and gunfire.

"Congratulations, folks!" Alameda shouts, lips curled up. "Your dreams are about to come true! You've all been Reaped as Tributes in the Seventy-Seventh Hunger Games!"

Behind him, Gale hears Haymitch chuckle darkly.

On the ground below the Gamemakers, distinguished from the simple workers by their lavish clothes, loud and obnoxious and glittering, are cowering, using tablets and silver plates to protect themselves from the debris.

Another shot rings out, and Alameda glares down at the scene below.

At first Gale thinks maybe she's going to open fire, shoot everyone, but she stops at one shot as a pained scream fills the air.

Down below, one of the younger people, probably not much older than Gale, dressed in the white and silver uniform, is doubled over with a bloody hand clutched to his shoulder.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you," Alameda warns, the rifle still trained on the sobbing man. "Anyone hits the panic button and you all get a bullet to the face. Not a pretty way to die."

Keeping her gun up, she starts to walk toward a set of wide stairs.

"Guns up, follow me."

Without question they do. She may be crazy, but she's effective.

Glancing to his left, Gale catches Finnick's eye and they exchange tense nods. It's clear now why Alameda hadn't needed help with the Peacekeeper guards.

If Gale were to guess, the entire lot is probably dead in their station. The element of surprise was nothing but access for easy kills to her.

Not that he cares.

They're Peacekeepers after all.

To his right he feels Finnick again and he cuts him a look.

The gun is clutched in his white knuckles, his expression grim and his face bloodless.

He's probably thinking about the woman, Annie, trapped wherever Snow has her stashed away. Gale knows that's what he'd be thinking about if it were him.

He's suddenly unspeakably grateful Madge is stuck back on the hovercraft. His only regret is she isn't further away. Safer.

He doesn't get to worry over her much more before Alameda starts ordering people around again.

"You all," she gestures with her gun at the group of white and gold clad figures cowering away from her, "in the pantry."

What the pantry is, Gale isn't sure, but the Gamemakers certainly seem to know.

"But our food is in there!" One of the Gamemakers shrieks.

Alameda grins. "I know."

She ignores their horrified responses and begins yelling obscenities at the people, herding them toward the underside of the stairs.

It's a strange picture, a soggy wet girl that looks as Capitol as Effie Trinket in Gale's mind, corralling the confused and frightened people toward what looks to be a solid wall.

"Open it up," Alameda snarls and one of the girls jumps, pressing a purple and gold hand to the wall and swirling her fingers just as Almeda had earlier.

A seam forms at the center as the wall splits, opening up and revealing what looks to be a closet the size of a small cave.

It's stuffed full of food. More food than Gale's ever seen in his life. Food that's clearly exclusively for the Gamemakers consumption.

Families are starving and they have more food than they'll ever be able to eat.

"In!"

Whimpering, the group inch in, giving Alameda a collectively reproachful look as she grabs one of the garishly dressed Gamemakers and forces them to shut the door.

"Now, for you losers." She shoves the woman toward her fellows and looks to Haymitch. "Pick our winner, Mr. Haymitch."

Gale isn't sure what she means, but Haymitch apparently does.

He sneers, his eyes scanning over the Gamemakers for a moment before reaching out and grabbing a big bellied man from the line up.

"He'll do."

"No!" The man quivers, pleading with Haymitch. "Why not Seneca? He's the Head Gamemaker!"

One of the men, thin and pale with an ornate beard, shies from view, trying to hide from the other man's accusing finger.

It doesn't seem to matter to Haymitch or Alameda. They carry on as if he's not blubbering on the ground, begging for his life.

Still unsure what's happening, Gale watches as the remaining Gamemakers are rounded up and herded toward a room that seems to be emitting a flowery scent.

"Why are you putting us in the bathrooms?" One of them asks, clearly trying to stall.

Alameda grins. "Because, that's where shit goes."

#######

The second Alameda vanishes into the bathroom with the Gamemakers the man that had been singled out stops wailing and gets to his feet.

"Quite a good performance, if I do say so myself," he chuckles to himself, straightening out his clothes.

"I thought it was a little over dramatic," Haymitch counters, not looking impressed.

"Nonsense, I'd have snagged an award for that."

Gale feels even more confused and looks to Finnick, wondering if he's as lost as Gale feels.

When he sees Finnick, he's smiling.

"You were our leak," he says simply. "You gave up the location."

The man smiles broadly and takes a bow.

"Plutarch has been itching for a rebellion more than we have," Haymitch tells them. "He cried when I told him the plan."

"Mostly because I thought it could use a few more explosions," Plutarch defends himself. "I still think it could."

"We aren't driving up the body count just to make you happy," Alameda grumbles as she emerges from the bathroom, reaching out and slamming her hand to the wall, causing it to shift and slide shut behind her. "This isn't going to be the Games."

She goes to the gleaming control panel and sighs.

"Do you know how to work any of that works?" Anton asks her, looking as though he already knows the answer.

"Not a clue." She shrugs. "Mr. Plutarch, I believe this is your area of expertise. You know what to do."

Looking smug, Plutarch walks to the panel and begins tapping away, entering numbers with a smile on his face.

"I don't-I don't understand," Gale mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose and squinting his eyes closed, hoping when they open the world will make sense.

"Plutarch wanted them to think he's under duress," Finnick explains. "That way if something goes wrong he'll have some deniability."

Gale doesn't see why they'd want to protect a Gamemaker, maybe it had been their bartering chip to cement his cooperation, so he doesn't ask. There are more pressing issues at the moment.

"Like it'll matter," Haymitch grunts, shifting the gun in his hands. "If this falls apart they won't care if he had a gun to his head or not. He'll get finished either way."

Nodding, Anton gives Gale and Finnick a slight smile. "Maybe Plutarch just wanted to test out his acting."

It's as good an answer as any. Better than helping an overly dramatic old man, at least to Gale.

The tapping stops echoing on the walls and a groan takes its place. Frowning, they all look to the control panel.

Plutarch has stepped back, his eyebrows knitted together in worry. He looks pale when he looks over at them, sweat beading up on his forehead.

"I can get access to the main satellite, but the codes aren't working."

His breathing speeds up and Gale feels his hope evaporate, getting quickly replaced by cold fear.

"But those codes should've still been good," Finnick says, his voice edging up, high with panic. "Remember, Bird? When I told them to you she'd said-"

"Well she either lied or was too stupid to know what month it was," Alameda snaps, grinding her teeth.

"What does that mean?" Gale hears himself ask, feeling strangely detached from his voice and body.

Things are falling apart. Madge, his mom, the kids, they're all going to be killed and there's nothing he can do to stop it.

He suddenly wishes he'd taken them all and run years ago. They could've survived in the woods. Gale would've made sure of it.

Alameda sighs, looking more annoyed than distressed, and begins digging in her dirty purse, finally fishing out her battered compact.

"That, dear Dorothy, means Plan B." She flips open the compact and shoots Plutarch a withering look. "Looks like you're getting your wish, Mr. Plutarch. Explosions it is."


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: As always, thanks to Nursekelly for helping.

"What exactly is 'Plan B'?" Gale asks, the sickened feeling growing in his stomach making him certain he doesn't want to know and won't like it when he does.

"Simple, it's a contingency plan in the event that the codes weren't good."

"We gathered that much, kid," Haymitch growls. "Wanna clue us in on the detail?"

Alameda waves a hand, shushing him as she stares at her compact.

"Madgie, I need you to use the communicator on the ship, Theo knows the frequency, tell everyone we're going with Plan B."

For a second nothing happens, then Gale hears Madge's voice, pitchy with panic.

"What's 'Plan B'?"

"Everyone is just so full of curiosity today," Alameda huffs. "Don't worry. I'll explain when we get on the ship. Be back in a minute."

"No, Bir-"

Alameda snaps the compact shut, clipping Madge's question short.

"Alright, gentlemen, Dorothy, let's-"

Haymitch grabs her by one of her arms and slings her into one on the bubble like white chairs that had been vacated by the frightened people earlier.

"You'll explain now, girl," he snarls.

"Haymitch, she-"

"Don't defend her," he snaps at Anton, glaring at him for a moment before turning back to Alameda. "Now explain."

She grinds her teeth, looking for a minute like she might be considering withholding the information a while longer, just because she can. Then she sighs.

"Fine. Asshole." She rubs her arms, eyes narrowed on him. "I figured those codes would either be useless or trigger some kind of defense, so w-I came up with plans to work around both possibilities."

When she doesn't elaborate, Haymitch makes another threatening noise.

She isn't cowed. "Get on the hovercraft and I'll explain things. We don't have time to be dicking around here playing twenty questions."

Turning to the half terrified, half excited looking Heavensbee, Alameda points to the glowing control panel

"Turn off all the traps in the Games, make sure to make sure they can't be turned back on. We're going."

Stomping off, she stops when she gets to the stairs. When none of the men move to follow her, she huffs.

"Come on or you get left behind with the other garbage."

And without another word she's up the stairs and out the door, leaving the men standing in their confusion in the gleaming control room.

#######

Madge nearly jumps when the door to the hovercraft silently opens and Birdy hurries on.

"Where's Gale? Where's Mr. Abernathy? What've I done?"

She'd gotten no update on any 'Plan B' even if she'd had no doubt one existed, and she wants to know what disaster she's triggered by passing along Birdy's message.

"What do I do Mags?" She'd fretted, gnawing at her lower lip when Birdy had cut her off, after her cryptic command.

Mags had patted her shoulder, given her some incomprehensible words of encouragement, and smiled gummily.

It had been comforting, but not helpful.

Closing her eyes, Madge had sighed. She didn't have time to worry about what she might be triggering, and even less to think about the consequences that might come.

Eyes opening, she'd given the avox, a man with thick glasses and a deeply battered face, a small nod, and he'd clicked the communicator on.

It had been nothing but one anxious moment after another since that. There'd been no confirmation sent back from anyone, no sign of what was to come, and that had filled the hovercraft with increasingly stifling worry.

Madge paced the length, checked the time every five minutes, considered grabbing up a gun and running in, nearly chewed through her bottom lip before Mags hobbled over and made her sit.

"They're coming," Birdy tells her, jerking her thumb over her shoulder to the grey patch of sky and drab earth through the opening. "Don't worry, they're both in one piece."

Sure enough, not two seconds later, Gale and Mr. Abernathy come hurrying in, both looking annoyed but whole.

"Gale!" Madge flings herself at him, tears already dripping off the edge of her face and onto her dress. Pulling back she inspects him for damage, not trusting Birdy's word or her own eyes that he's really okay.

Both have lied to her, and she can't trust them when Gale's well being is on the line.

Once she's happy he's not got some hidden injury, bleeding to death under his jacket, she pulls him close and cries a little more.

"I'm not getting left behind again," she sputters. "Never again."

"Didn't miss much," he grumbles.

Pulling back, Madge frowns in confusion before spotting Mr. Abernathy. The tears start again as she grabs him in a tight hug.

"I'm fine, Pearl," he gently tells her, smoothing her hair and kissing her forehead.

"What happened?" She looks between them, the bubble of anxiety building back up in her chest. Something went wrong, she just knows it.

Glaring over the top of her head, Gale points at Birdy, now studiously avoiding seven sets of eyes on her by picking at her cuticles.

Madge barely has time to register that Plutarch Heavensbee, a pompous, oily Gamemaker that had spent many evenings trying to coax her into dancing, is there before one of the men clears their throat.

"You promised us an explanation, Phoebe," Anton says, his dark eyes glittering even in the dull light of the hovercraft's belly. "I think now would be a good time to start."

Looking up, she makes a pained expression, clearly disagreeing with him, but sighs.

"Fine, Mr. Heavensbee, first you need to get Theo the coordinates to the Arena." She checks the time. "We haven't got long to get there."

His belly preceding him, Mr. Heavensbee waddles toward the front of the hovercraft, humming to himself as he goes.

When he's safely clear of the room, Mr. Abernathy stomps over and hits the control to electronic door, locking the Gamemaker out.

"We don't need him for you to explain this, kid," he growls.

Despite her expression not changing, her skin pales as she nods.

"Alright, story time it is."

#######

Madge thinks she might have been better off not knowing Plan B.

The avoxes that Birdy had recruited to fly the hovercrafts, after the now impossible base takeover, are still going to steal as many as they can fly.

"They're all old pilots so they know how to override the programming," a Birdy explains.

"What if that's changed too?" Madge asks, her heart still pounding from the revelation that the codes, the linchpin of their mad scheme, were useless. "What's the plan then?"

"Overriding can't be changed. They're basically going to hot-wire them."

Evidently, that didn't require codes, much to Madge's relief.

"So we'll have a few hovercrafts in our arsenal still?" Gale asks, his expression still tense.

"Very few, like five few."

Fantastic.

"But that's plenty, even if the bases are still operational. One hovercraft has enough firepower to demolish a quarter of a base, and if need be, they will."

That's not the end of it though.

Over the past few days those planning the rebellion had set up explosives across the city.

"We only had enough explosives for about a dozen places, but really, once we set off one, plus the kaboom at the generator station, people will be in a panic. Mr. Beetee will broadcast that we've got enough bombs set up to take this place to hell-"

"But you don't," Gale points out. "You don't have enough to do much damage at all."

Madge thinks of all the places Birdy could've placed her 'security' explosives and feels a wave of nausea hit her. In a high traffic enough place, there'd be plenty of damage.

"That's not exactly going to be common knowledge, is it?" Birdy tells him, rolling her eyes. "What they believe is all that matters."

And they'll believe a bloodthirsty pack of Victors capable of killing them all. Fear will keep them in line, just like it's kept the Districts under the Capitol's thumb all these years.

With any luck, there'll be no need to set off the other explosives.

"So we pick up little brother and then glide on over to Presidential Mansion for the final act. El Presidente Snow's grand exit."

Madge leans onto Gale, closing her eyes and hoping when she opens them it will all be over and they'll be back in Twelve, surrounded by the people they love, not hurtling toward certain doom.

What she gets instead is Finnick standing, his face strangely calm.

"What about Annie?" He asks, his voice so low Madge almost misses it.

Birdy's nose wrinkles. "What about her? She's with President Snow at the mansion, remember? We'll get her in no time."

Finnick's body stiffens and his eyes narrow.

"What if he does something to her before we get there?" His voice rises. "What if he uses her as a bartering chip? What if he kills her to show people he can hurt the Victors?"

"Finnick-"

Birdy doesn't get a chance to answer even one question. Finnick has already rushed across the room and pinned her to the wall, lifting her up so that the tips of her toes just barely graze the ground.

"Did you think of that when you were 'planning'? Did you come up with a plan for Annie?"

He's frantic, shouting and crying, his hands so tight on Birdy's arms Madge is sure she can see bruises already forming.

No one moves to help her though, they're all too shocked by sweet, gentle Finnick's sudden outburst.

"Finnick," Birdy whispers, her eyes wide and kind, "I always look out for Annie, you know that. The avoxes-"

"You're betting her life on avoxes!" He looks like he might hit her as he laughs, a little wildly. "You don't trust anyone, but suddenly you trust the avoxes."

"I still don't trust anyone," Birdy tells him, her voice still soft, as if she's trying to hush a crying child. "But the avoxes are the only people with as much reason as us to hate the Capitol. They're on our side. They'll protect Annie. Not that she needs it. She's tougher than you think."

Madge almost agrees, but stops. Annie is strong, but she's also fragile. Her mind is a mess, fragments that connect some days but seem so scattered and disjointed others.

Her body might survive, but whatever mental tortures President Snow inflicts on her might be more damage than she can overcome.

"And if they don't?" He asks, sounding so much like a frightened child Madge almost shakes off the trance that's settled over her to go and comfort him.

His grip on Birdy's shoulders loosens enough for her to slip, her heels clicking on the metal as they make contact.

"I've got a plan for that."

She doesn't say what it is, but there's such confidence in her words that Madge doesn't think it's a lie.

Neither, it seems, does Finnick.

Anton places a bronzed hand on his friend's shoulder and pulls him back, giving him a small smile as he does.

Finnick just nods, walks to the corner and drops down onto one of the benches, resting his head in his hands, elbows to knees.

Mags hobbles over to him and plops down, pulls him into a hug just as a sob claws its way out of his throat.

"I hope this isn't one of your inventive truths, Birdy," she hears Anton say.

Glancing over, Madge sees Birdy's lips twitch up.

"Honey, that's the only kind of truth I know."

#######

Gale pulls Madge tighter, trying not to imagine just how Finnick must feel with Annie's situation so precarious.

It would be a nightmare, worse than all the times Madge has been dragged off to entertain idiots. At least then there wasn't a war brewing that could get her killed.

Pressing a kiss into her hair, Gale sighs.

"Baby okay?" He asks, more to break the silence than because he's worried. Madge would say something if anything were wrong. He just needs a moment of distraction.

Her mind is too full to let her talk, so she just nods, her hands pressing to her belly.

Slouching back, Gale keeps his arm around her, fingers tracing patterns on her dress as he watches Finnick.

He's got his head down again, like he's about to be sick, while Mags comfortingly pats his shoulder and mumbles gibberish into his ear.

It's a pitiful sight, and Gale hopes Annie is okay and that Alameda really does have a plan to keep her safe. Finnick might live out Gale's dream of strangling the smile off Alameda's face if she doesn't.

"She does," Madge assures him when he voices his concern. "She always does."

Or she always pretends to.

Still, the forethought with the explosives is impressive, even if it is one of Alameda's ideas and Gale would rather eat raw sewage than admit she's not completely stupid.

If it was her idea, that is.

Gale has his doubts that she's the single architect of this entire plot. It's too intricate for one person to have pulled off, he's sure of it, and one person can't plan for everything.

She's taking credit for things Gale is sure she can't have orchestrated, and he isn't sure if it's for glory or something else.

"She should've went with the bombings from the go ahead," he grumbles.

It makes more sense to him. Prove they're willing to do something instead of just threatening to turn the hovercrafts against them

"We wanted to avoid bloodshed," Madge half whispers, her eyes wide as she stares at him, as if she isn't sure what he's saying, or that she's hoping he isn't. "They're stupid, but they're not evil, not most of them anyways."

They're plenty evil in Gale's mind. A few good people mixed in isn't enough to justify treating them with kid gloves.

The Capitol has starved him and his family for years, taken his dad, tried to take Madge, it doesn't deserve gentleness. Gale wouldn't lose any sleep if Alameda had her friends in the hovercrafts, and whoever she's got holding the detonator, destroyed the entire Capitol.

It deserves to burn.

He doesn't say any of that though. It would only upset Madge, and that can't be good for her. There's enough stress on her for the moment.

Settling in Gale wishes, for the first time in his life, that there was a television to update him on the build up to the Games.

They're flying blind as far as Gale is concerned. Alameda might know if something has screwed up, but he isn't positive she'd tell them, and that adds on to his mounting fear that the world is crumbling below them and he's helpless to stop it.

Finally, after several long minutes, the hum of the hovercraft only broken by Finnick's occasional sob, Alameda appears in the entry from the cockpit.

"We're coming up on the Arena."

Finnick doesn't even look up, but everyone else does.

Gale is on his feet, quickly followed by a struggling Madge.

Once he's pulled Madge up, made sure her feet are safely under her, Gale sets Alameda in a stern look. "What's next?"

She doesn't smile, just crosses her arms and jerks her head toward the hall she'd just emerged from.

"Come look."

Despite the fact that the strange game they'd designed had already begun, it isn't until Gale gets into the cockpit of the hovercraft and sees the bright screen with Ceasar Flickerman and Claudius Templesmith cheerfully building up to the Games opening that it hits him.

This is the ending and the beginning.

No more Reapings, no more Games.

It's about to end.

"And in less than two minutes the countdown begins!" Flickerman shouts cheerfully, no indication that there's a hovercraft full of Victors missing or that they know the Gamemakers have been locked in a bathroom.

"Two minutes and we liven up their television viewing," Alameda mumbles, not looking at the screen.

Instead, she's focused on the enormous dome growing fast just through the window.

It's silver, shimmers in what little sunlight there is like mirrors, all except for one patch at the right.

Squinting, Gale can see that it's a retractable panel, and floating at its center, is a hovercraft.

It's waiting for the bloodbath, ready to swoop in and collect the bodies and give the Capitol a quick clean up. Gale feels his jaw tense at the thought.

People are watching and waiting, anticipating the deaths of children.

They won't get it though, and the thought that they're about to receive disappointment and fear almost makes Gale smile.

The avox taps in a few codes on the dash as they get closer, and to Gale's surprise the other hovercraft starts to rise up and zoom away.

"Where is it going?" Madge asks, her eyes following the hovercraft as it vanishes, gliding past and behind them.

Gale wonders too. It might be heading off to warn of an intruder.

"It was a warning code," Alameda explains, pointing to the dash. "We told them their hovercraft was reporting a defective retrieval claw, a definite must have for all your post death match body snatching. Our friends from Six provided it. "

Their ship speeds up, gently settling into the air the other hovercraft had vacated.

From their new spot, Gale can just make out the twenty four tiny platforms awaiting the Tributes, all circled around the bronze cornucopia at the center of the quaint town.

He can't pull his eyes from it. In less than a minute Rory will appear on one of them to wait for the gong to signal the start.

Vaguely he's aware of the artificial sky on the inside of the dome, wispy clouds and a deceptively cheerful sun hang around them, a stark contrast to the gloomy, stormy sky on the outside. The earth below them is smattered with piney trees and crooked creeks, a little pond at the base of a small mountain, and at the center, the cobbled roofs of the abandoned town. Despite himself, Gale wonders what the Arena's theme was meant to be.

It looks like something out of a picture book Gale had seen once, about far off lands with ice capped mountains and pine wood forests. He wonders what animals live in those woods...

Gale shakes the thoughts off. They don't matter. Rory isn't going to be fighting any of those things. No one will.

Movement below snags his attention, pulling him from his moment of morbid curiosity.

The platforms have opened up, and from each a black clad figure has appeared.

Their outfits are lightweight, dark colored, easy to vanish with in the shadows of the quaint little village and surrounding woods.

"There he is," Madge whispers, her eyes focusing on a tall, dark haired figure on the far side of the gleaming cornucopia.

Rory.

Even from a distance Gale can see his brother is easily the tallest Tribute, despite not being the oldest.

He looks to be turning on the spot, maybe talking to the curly haired girl from Ten next to him, or Charity, who Gale thinks is the smallish figure to his right.

Maybe he thinks things haven't gone to plan, even that they've been killed, which isn't a bad guess considering what he knows of the plan. It's insanity and failure is a more likely outcome than success.

It doesn't matter though. They've made it this far and Gale refuses to let this thing crash and burn when they're so close to winning.

The Tributes all stiffen, their feet ready to run for the enticing piles of weapons and foods beckoning them from the cornucopia, even if their good sense tells them it's certain death. The call of something to defend themselves with is too strong.

"Three!" Flickerman shouts his voice booming through the Arena around them. "Two! O-"

Instead of the gong a strange static fills the air.

The false sky shutters out, replaced with slate gray panels and reflective devices, as another voice echoes around them.

"Ladies and gentlemen, there's been a slight change of plans," the man says, his voice caught between excitement and panic.

Another voice takes over, a woman who sounds equal parts unhinged and delighted. "The Hunger Games have been cancelled. But don't worry, we've replaced them with something much more exciting."

Something explodes, the screens around the Arena light up with a live feed of Flickerman and Templesmith's frightened faces, both at gunpoint.

"Who gave Mason a gun?" Alameda asks, looking genuinely worried. "I specifically told them not to give that nutcase a gun."

"Sucks when people just do what they want and don't listen, doesn't it?" Gale asks, failing to keep the amusement from his voice.

She shoots him a nasty look before sighing and grumbling to herself.

On the screen Mason, a spiky haired woman Gale vaguely remembers as having fooled everyone into thinking she was weak and pathetic, taps Templesmith with her gun.

"Instead of watching the Games, you'll be participants," she tells them, the wild glint never leaving her eyes. "Let me lay down the rules."

Before they can hear the rules to the new 'game', the hovercraft lurches forward and Gale has to grab the dash to keep from falling back, steadying Madge as he does.

Below them, Gale sees several of the Tributes scattering, retreating back into the fake village, while a few more rush to the cornucopia, probably thinking this is some strange twist.

Rory doesn't run.

Gale sees him leap from his platform and grab the tiny, frightened figure beside him, sling her over his shoulder as she flails around, then gestures for a few of the others who hadn't run off to follow him as he races toward the hovercraft.

Abruptly, the hovercraft stops, slinging them all forward.

"You aren't a very good pilot, are you, Theo?" Alameda asks, rubbing her knee, which had made hard contact with the dash.

The avox's face flushes and he focuses on his next task.

A dozen ladders drop down from the belly of the hovercraft, and as each Tribute touches them, they freeze in place and are pulled upward.

Gale doesn't wait to be told what comes next, just rushes past Haymitch, who'd taken up post by the door, and down the hall to where he's certain the ladders will deposit their loads.

Finnick and old Mags both look up when Gale skids in.

Red eyed and pale, Finnick jumps up. "Has something happened?"

Gale barely has a chance to register what he's asked when he hears his name being called.

Turning, he finds Madge at the end of the hall, gesturing for him to follow her.

"The cargo bay is downstairs," she calls out, a slight smile on her face.

Forgetting he's probably just scared a few years off Finnick's life, Gale tears off again, down the hall and to where Madge is pointing.

The stairs down to the cargo bay are lit with strange yellow white orbs along the wall that blind Gale as he jumps down them, four and five at a time, until he slams into a heavy metal door.

Swearing, he tries to yank it open. When it doesn't budge he kicks it, sending a sharp pain up his leg.

"Damnit!"

"Gale!" Madge appears behind him, waddling dangerously fast down the steps. "There's a code!"

He's seconds from telling her to just tell him it already, when she's at the bottom and reaching past him, tapping in the code on the red lit panel of numbers he hadn't seen in his efforts to get in.

Like magic, the door silently slides open, too slow for Gale. He shoves it out of the way and half dives into the room.

Screams fill his head, vibrate on the metal walls as people scurry away from the intruder.

Gale starts to yell at them to be quiet, he's on their side, but gets cut off by a different kind of scream.

"GALE!"

Barely staying on his feet, Gale is almost thrown off balance by Rory's force as he flings himself at him.

Without thinking, Gale wraps his brother in a hug and wills himself not to cry.

"You're safe now," he tells him, every ounce of uncertainty evaporating.

Rory is with him, they're together and they're going to destroy the Capitol then go home and live quiet, simple lives. No more Reapings, no more Games.

Nothing will stop them now.

"You're safe now."


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: Once again, thanks to Nursekelly for putting up with me.

Madge doesn't try to stop the tears as she watches Gale and Rory.

It's not quite the end, but it's the biggest step in her mind.

They're together again, and as soon as President Snow is dead, they'll be free.

Gale pulls back and ruffles Rory's artfully messy hair before pulling him back into a hug, looking close to tears himself.

"It's gonna be okay," she hears him tell Rory, and coming from him, Madge believes it.

It's all come together, and he won't let it fail now. Not when they're so close to having everything they've ever wanted.

Just beyond them, the other Tributes are all wobbling to their feet, looking scared and unsure of the situation they're finding themselves in.

"Madge?" Charity's little voice calls out, her wide gray eyes glowing in the semidarkness. "Madge!"

Despite the fact that for the past few days she'd whole heartedly believed Madge was sacrificing her, Charity runs full speed at her, nearly knocking her off balance as she grabs her around the middle.

She quickly soaks the front of Madge's dress in tears, occasionally pulling back and wiping her nose on the dark sleeve of her jacket before sobbing again. Her neck had been on the chopping block, and the suddenness of her reprieve has shocked her beyond the point of understandable speech.

"It's okay. You're safe now," Madge tries to comfort her, though through her own sputtering it's incomprehensible. A wet burble that only sounds consoling.

Squeezing Charity tighter, she deserves it after the last few days, Madge blinks her vision clear enough to look at the other Tributes.

They're all still huddled together where they'd been deposited, wide eyes peering around them, trying to make sense of this newest twist.

"What's going on?" One of them asks, looking to Rory. "What's happened?"

He'd rounded them up, they must see him as a leader. Their leader.

Rory looks absolutely terrified at the implication.

His mouth gapes a little and he stares at them for a moment before looking to the person he trusts most in the world. Gale.

"It's rescue mission," Gale explains, his voice taking on a commanding tone, one Madge imagines he's used in his siblings for years and probably uses down in the mines, ordering the men on his crew around. It isn't a voice to be ignored.

"We're taking the Capitol down. Rescuing you was just part of the plan."

One of the boys, burly with a heavy brow and thick, rusty hair, glares at them.

"You mean rescuing him was just part of the plan," he growls. "We're just lucky."

Gale narrows his eyes, ready to defend Rory, but doesn't get the chance.

The lights suddenly click on, flooding the cargo bay with stinging bright.

"Yeah, you are," Birdy agrees from her spot leaning on the doorway. "But if you'd like to be unlucky, we can open the hatches and drop you out. Let you take your chances with those fools from the other Districts. If you survive the fall that is."

The boy pales under his freckles, steps back and tries to hide behind the other Tributes.

"You were in on this?" Chaparral asks, her voice rising. "You knew this was gonna happen and didn't tell us?"

"Yeah." Birdy shrugs. "Need to know info, and guess what? You didn't need to know."

"But Rory did?"

Birdy doesn't try to keep the coolness from her voice. "We needed him to play the game. Be grateful he's a stand-up enough guy to bring you along. I wouldn't've bothered."

The girl isn't intimidated.

"You're pretty awful, you know that?"

Birdy shrugs.

"Tell me something I don't know." She rolls her eye. "There's food in those crates in the corner, since I doubt any of you ate this morning." Turning, she gestures for Madge to follow her. "Let's get back up."

Glancing at Gale, Madge waits for him to cross back to her before following, Rory, Charity, and the other kids trailing behind them.

No one speaks, just walks in eerie silence up the steps until they're back in the bleak light of the main hovercraft.

"Thank you," Charity whispers, her voice just loud enough for Madge to hear. "For saving me."

Madge gives her a watery smile. She doesn't deserve thanks. She'd have sacrificed the poor girl if not for Rory. His refusal to let her die for him is what spurred everything.

Rory deserves the praise. He's the good person.

Looking away, Madge brushes a few tears from her cheeks before she feels something warm and rough grasp her fingers.

Gale's hand wraps around hers, safe and reassuring. He's seen her at her worst, and he's still here, so, she reasons, if someone as wonderful and understanding as him can still love her, maybe she's not so bad.

She hopes anyways.

#######

When they reach the cockpit, Gale can see the landscape is already changing.

They've left the barren lands that surrounded the Arena and are speeding toward a shining horizon. The outskirts of the Capitol.

"What the hell is this?"

Alameda glares at the kids behind them, nose wrinkled up in irritation.

"What did you bring them up for?"

"You wanted them to stay in the cargo bay?" Madge frowns.

"That's why I put food and water down there," Alameda grumbles.

"We aren't puppies," Rory snaps, crossing his arms and glaring.

"Yeah, puppies aren't this stupid," Alameda snaps back.

"Don't call us stupid!" The curly haired girl growls. "Just because you know more."

"I know more because I'm smarter than you. Therefore, you are stupi-"

"You know more because you don't tell what you know!"

"I-"

"Shut up!"

Gale grabs Alameda by the arm and drags her away from the girl.

It's worse than listening to Vick and Rory squabble after school. He half expects the pair to begin a tussle on the floor and yell for their mom.

Alameda tries to twist away, almost lands a kick to his shin, but Gale is ready for her and slings her around, catching her by the middle and flinging her over his shoulder.

"Put me down you Neanderthal!"

Ignoring her, Gale carries her out the door and down the hall until he finds a dark room filled with crates labeled 'fragile' and deposits her on the floor with a thud.

"You-"

"Shut up!"

She does, but Gale suspects it's more out of shock than for actually listening.

"You're a brat, you know that," Gale tells her. "You expect everyone just to listen to you but you don't give anyone a reason to."

"I give results," she snaps back, pushing herself to her feet. "That's all that matters."

"You give attitude and put downs. People don't respond well to that." He blocks the door. She isn't getting out without giving him answers for once. "I put up with you because you've taken care of Madge and she likes you for some crazy reason, but I'm not gonna stand there while you push your crap on a bunch of kids." He's half shouting, sick and tired of her particular brand of asshole. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Her lips twitch up in a rueful smile. "More than we've got time for, I promise."

When she tries to push past him, Gale blocks her again.

"Move it Do-"

"Stop with the Dorothy bullshit," he cuts her off. "Haha, I have a girl's name. You're clever. Congratulations. What the hell did I ever do to you?"

Because petty arguments from years ago need to pass already. She needs to grow up. He doesn't have time for her crap.

For a minute she just stares at him, and he almost thinks she's trying to plan another try for the door, but instead she just sighs.

"Not a damn thing."

It takes a second for Gale to register what she's said, and even them he doesn't understand.

Gale blinks, sure he's imagining things. "What?"

Crossing her arms, Alameda narrows her eyes. "You heard me. I won't say it again."

Annoyance boiling up again, Gale grinds his teeth.

"Then why are you such a bitch? I love Madge, I'd do anything for her. What is enough for you?"

She stares at him for a moment, her eyes dark, blank and shiny, like one of the delicate mass manufactured dolls that sit in the window of the general store back in Twelve that Posy loves to stare at, has begged Gale for over the years but he's never been able to afford.

For a moment he wonders when exactly they managed to hollow her out, suck out whatever good she might've had in her and replace it with ice and spite. She empty, and it's a wonder she even cares about Madge enough to have done all she has for her over the years.

"You're not as big a loser as I initially thought," she starts, looking physically pained at saying it. "I-you don't understand our world here but you kept going to her and making things complicated-"

"I love her. I was trying to help her. She's allowed to be happy."

And he makes Madge happy, no matter what she thinks.

"I know you do. And it'd be a nice world if we really were allowed to be happy. But happiness for Victors is conditional, and that condition is safety. You don't get both."

"Madge did," he points out.

"Because we worked for it, but how long was that gonna last?" She tugs at her green hair, pulling the still damp wig off and tossing it to the floor. "Cecelia, our best case scenario, is a mess. Her husband, the man she moved heaven and earth to be with, snapped under the pressure of having the Capitol always watching, the rumors we had to start, all the lies and secrets. He's a drunk, and not a nice one."

Her expression tightens and her gaze drops to the floor.

"You're a good guy, but so was Isaac. How long would you last with all that piled on you? How long until you snapped and took it out on Madge?"

Gale feels his eyebrows pull together.

"I wouldn't. I would never hurt her."

Her lips twitch as she glances up, chuckling softly.

"I'd bet anything Isaac said the same thing. I'd bet anything Cecelia believed that too. What they do to us though...who you are and who they make you have to be...it isn't easy, being two different people. Sometimes it gets blurred." She waves vaguely at the door. "Do you know how many times Finnick has gone home to Four and not been able to drop his act? His own brother doesn't take his kids around him because he doesn't want them seeing him like that. Ms. Mags' sister killed herself when they started in on her. It makes Mr. Haymitch's drinking look like a delight. Family, friends, everyone around us, is collateral damage. Your family would be too."

Gale huffs. "They ended up that way anyways."

"Was that an accident?" She asks, her eyes steady on him. "Did Vick get picked randomly or was it planned to out Madge's private life?"

"You sound paranoid," Gale mutters, rubbing his neck, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation.

Vick being Reaped was random. It had to be.

"But properly so," she counters. "I know how this game is played, maybe too well. I know that as well informed as I am, as convincing as I am, I'm not the President's only source. I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop for years."

She lets her eyes drop to the ground again.

"I know I planted the seed in Madge's head that we could take down the Capitol, but I was never serious. I don't know who I am if I'm not this."

Gale starts to reach out, but his hand drops back to his side. She's pathetic and he wants to give her some kind of comfort, but he can't. He doesn't know who she was, who she is, who she will be, and he definitely doesn't know if she'll be a good person. His condolences would be false.

"I'm not good. Everything good about me...it's just gone. All I am is this, and this is awful."

Despite trying to bite it back, Gale says the first thing that pops in his mind.

"You could try not being a complete bitch. Maybe answer a question without giving grief for once."

Her eyes cut up to him and her lips twitch.

"Where's the fun in that?"

Despite himself, Gale chuckles.

"That's just asking too much isn't it?"

Her grin widens. "Yeah."

It gets quiet for a moment, but before it can get awkward, she sighs.

"I know you're a good guy, Gale. I see that, but expecting the worst in people, working to that, it's how I've made it this far. It's why I'm still alive and relatively sane when some of the others...aren't."

It's a life he can't imagine, but he's glad she made it through, for Madge's sake. Without her he doesn't know what might've happened.

"It's gonna be different now. So stop being a brat," he finally tells her. "Don't pick fights with the kids at least. Answer questions. We're your allies, not your chewtoys."

Her eyes roll. "Fine, but I'm not letting them come with us when we get to the mansion. I've got enough problems with the merman twins and cranky pants."

She pushes past him and Gale frowns when he registers what she's said.

"What've they done?"

Alameda laughs. "Come on Dor-Gale, guess."

When Gale only glares, she crosses her arms and grins.

"You're the only one that noticed I didn't load the damn guns."

Gale stares for half a breath, then lets out a long sigh. "You left them unloaded on purpose?"

Unbelievable.

"Of course," she chirps, her bravado coming back. "You think I'd trust anyone with a gun if they didn't know to follow the first rule of gun safety?"

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Gale closes his eyes. "Is that: don't point it at yourself or others?"

She shakes her head. "That's just good sense." She shifts on her feet, the wicked glint flashing in her eye. "First rule is: never assume a gun you're handed is loaded, or unloaded, always check."

"So you let them go in without protection?" Gale growls, indignant on their behalf.

Well, maybe not for Haymitch. He wouldn't trust him with a loaded weapon either.

"There was no danger. I dropped sleeping gas on the Peacekeepers before I locked them up and the Gamemakers without their Arena are about as dangerous as a cotton candy baton. I just gave y'all guns to make you feel important."

"But you told Madge-"

"Have you seen her walk?" She mimes a scarily accurate imitation of Madge's increasingly graceless waddle. "We'd still be getting down the hall if we had to wait on her."

He almost argues with her, but can't make himself. She's kind of right.

"We're never telling her that," Gale warns her.

"Wasn't planning on it," she agrees. "And let's keep the gun thing between us. Unless you want your fiancée's drunken master getting his clumsy hands on a loaded weapon."

"Agreed."

Smile relaxing, into something natural, almost believable, she gestures for Gale to lead the way.

"Gale, I think this is the beginning of a tolerable coexistence."

#######

Madge tries to see what's going on below, but the rain is too heavy. She's dependent on the live feed on the screen embedded on the dash.

Johanna is still on, along with a slightly manic looking Victor from Six whose name Madge can't recall. Their threats and warnings are interspersed with Capitol assurances as Mr. Latier wrestles for control of the airwaves with some unseen force.

"There was always a chance they'd be able to remotely access the satellites," Birdy tells them when she and Gale reemerge, after several long minutes.

Madge had considered going after them, stopping whatever fight they were about to have, but had just managed to stop herself.

She's never been able to stand up to her friend, despite her behavior toward the people Madge holds dearest. Friends have been so hard to come by in her life, both before and after the Games, that the thought of losing one of her few has kept her paralyzed with fear.

Birdy and Gale needed to make peace with one another, but they'd have to come by it themselves. Madge didn't have it in her to broker it for them.

"Maybe we'll get lucky and they'll kill each other," Mr. Abernathy muttered when he finally made his way to the front.

"Don't say things like that," Madge gently warned him. "You like them."

Even if he'd rather fling himself from the hovercraft than admit it.

"I tolerate the girl because she's useful. That boy…" He shook his head. "I'll put up with him until he hurts you. He's not the worst you could've shacked up with."

Madge sighed. It was as close as he'd get to admitting he was fond of either of them, so she'd decided to go back to watching the horizon.

The screen flashes, showing the rebel controlled hovercrafts, then cuts to another Capitol official, telling people to remain calm, it's all under control before Johanna appears again to contradict him.

"What happens if he can't keep them out?" One of the girls asks. "If they take back control of the television?"

Birdy rolls her eyes and looks like she might be planning a nasty retort, but Gale clears his throat and shoots her a warning look.

Whatever was said between them, it had clearly made a difference. Instead of blowing him off and saying whatever horrible thing had been at the tip of her tongue, Birdy closes her eyes and arranges her features into faux pleasantness.

"They can't. We hold the building that houses all the main controls and satellite connections. The best they can do is break in for a few seconds. They're being undone by their own brilliant firewalls."

"What if they take the building back?" The girl asks, still looking unconvinced.

Birdy looks like she'd dearly like to say something scathing, probably tell the girl to stop asking questions and leave the thinking to people with brains, but her smile stays tacked in place.

"Mr. Beetee triggered the buildings defenses. It's on lockdown. No one can get in and it's got reserve electricity, just like all televisions in the Capitol-"

"Madge said they cut the electricity and blew up the generators," Charity points out, looking anxious at speaking up. "What if they use their televisions reserve electricity for power?"

"These people can't even tie their shoes," Birdy explains, her pleasant expression straining. "They wouldn't know how to rewire their television. Now, I know you're all just big balls of really mind numbingly brilliant questions and all, but can you just, I don't know, keep a few to yourself and use basic reasoning to answer them yourselves? Not making fun of you is giving me a headache."

She spins on her heels, back to the television, and Madge hears Gale sigh.

He gives Madge a slight smile, as if to say 'that's the best we're gonna get' then steps up to the dash and squints down at the screen.

"What if Snow is gone when we get there?"

Madge turns and finds Finnick, eyes reddened and hair a mess from being tugged at. Mags is at his side, her expression stern, warning Birdy not to play her games.

"He'll be there," is Birdy's only reply before looking back at the screen.

Mags makes a harsh noise of warning, but it gets ignored. It isn't until Gale takes her by the shoulders and forces her to turn, look at Finnick, that she makes any kind of acknowledgement.

"How do you know he won't run?" Gale asks. "That's a good question. We deserve to know what you've got planned. We're in this together. Answer it."

Her eyes stay on the ground, cut to Finnick, then drop back to her feet.

"I'd rather not."

"Birdy…" Madge rubs her temples. "Please answer. For once in your life, just be honest."

"That is honest."

"Spit it out kid," Mr. Abernathy snaps. "Finnick asked a question. Answer."

Biting her lip, Birdy studies her feet for a moment longer, then glances up, holding Finnick's increasingly panicked look.

"Okay, but you aren't going to like it."


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: As always, thanks to Nursekelly for her patience.
> 
> AN: Almost over, yay! Probably just one more chapter, two if things get too complicated, but I don't think they will.

Finnick slumps down when Alameda finishes explaining. If it were Gale, he'd have killed her already. The other man doesn't seem to have any fight left in him though; all his energy is focused on Annie.

Looking up, Finnick blinks his red rimmed eyes and shakes his head. "You're horrible."

Alameda shrugs, trying and failing to look like it doesn't bother her. "I'm aware." She gives him a weak smile. "But President Snow was going to track her no matter what, we were just playing the cards we were dealt. If we'd refused it would've tipped our hand."

"This isn't a game!" Finnick roars. His face crumples a second later. "This is Annie's life."

And she and the others had gambled with it. She was nothing more than a piece in their game.

"The President was getting annoyed with how close you were with Madgie and Gale," Alameda had explained, her arms crossed protectively over her middle, refusing to look up as she talked. "So he wanted us to activate Annie's tracker."

"But, our trackers-didn't they remove them after the Games?" Madge asked, her fingers running over a nonexistent scar on her forearm, her eyes flickering with worry and anger.

Shaking her head, Alameda grimaced. "They're deactivated, but they're still there."

And with a few buttons pushed, Snow can reactivity them. A failsafe he'd apparently been sitting on for decades.

"How do you know he's not tracking us right now?" Haymitch snapped, hand gripped around his forearm. "How d'you know he hasn't been tracking us this whole time?"

"Because Mr. Beetee altered the-whatever it is that tracks us." She pressed her fingers to the sides of her head, eyes squinted up. "It's technical, and I only act like I know how everything works. But no, Snow isn't tracking us. Otherwise he'd known a lot more than he does."

"Why didn't you deactivate Annie's then?" Finnick got to his feet, looking frantic. "If you-"

"He'd have noticed," Gale answered, finally understanding the game being played, hating himself a little for it.

It's not about doing what they want, it's about thinking ahead, and hoping you've picked right.

That's little consolation to Finnick, and Gale can't say he blames him. He wouldn't be quite so understanding if it were Madge being used as a human beacon.

While Finnick slumps back down in terrified silence, Gale crosses his arms and glares at Alameda.

He may understand why she's gambled like she has, but that doesn't mean he likes it.

"What's the plan from here then?" Madge asks. "I mean, I assume you'd originally wanted us to stay at the control center to command the bases, but since that fell apart…"

Alameda nods, looking a bit relieved to be moving on from Annie.

"Yeah, well now the group that was meant to take the Presidential mansion is going to hold the line with the others while we get the honors."

"You'd've left Annie's life in just anyone's hands?" Finnick's voice breaks, shining face looking up in accusation. "You weren't even going to be there to get her out?"

The silence answers his question, and tears begin silently dripping off his face more forcefully.

"There'd be friends there for her. Just not us," she finally answers, eyes back on the ground. "It was a crappy thing to do, and a crappy plan, but...I was doing the best I could."

Gale frowns at her, wishing she'd put the wig back on. It's easier to hate her with it. She's too close to human without it, dirty hair and shadowed eyes, small and pathetic.

It makes Gale wonder what he'd have done if the choice were his, and he can't say without a doubt that he wouldn't have done the same as her. There's a certain amount of pragmatism in her line of thinking that Gale can't deny is as appealing as it is annoying.

He wants to believe he's better than her, but somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows he probably isn't.

Survival has carved something out of them, a thoughtfulness, a kindness, that he isn't sure they'll ever be able to get back. Time doesn't heal all wounds, not all the way.

They're awful, half steps from falling off a cliff and becoming the very monster they fight, and they'll have to spend every second of the rest of their lives battling to keep from slipping off that edge.

He shakes his head. This isn't the time for those thoughts.

"We can assign blame later," Gale finally breaks the tension. "Right now we need to focus on the important things, like getting Annie out and killing Snow."

Because as far as Gale is concerned, that's plenty on their plate.

#######

Madge studies the glowing blue image of the Presidential Mansion, committing every hallway and secret passage to memory.

They're not supposed to need those details, but she still wants them. They're her security.

"He's going to make a run for it when he sees us landing," Gale muttered when Birdy had first pulled the layout from her ratty bag.

"No he won't," Mr. Abernathy shook his head. "He's too arrogant to scamper away. He won't abandon ship because he's gonna think he's drawing us into a trap of his own."

That had been what they'd betted on with the original plan, and it served as well in the new course.

"He thinks he's got one up on us," Birdy explained. "See, we let some of our little plan leak to him, the part about using avoxes."

And President Snow had, predictably, created a counter measure.

"He's got Peacekeepers infiltrating the avoxes. We know who they are though and when we start to land, they'll be taken out. And we know they're all still there because of Annie."

Because President Snow isn't going to let his best bargaining chip, his bait, get far from him.

Gale looked anything but clear when Birdy finished.

"So...wait...I don't understand."

Madge smiled up at him.

"We baited him and he reacted, and so we used what we know about him to plan more. Annie's tracker just verifies that we guessed right, that he's still at the mansion waiting for us."

Gale still didn't look sure of the plan.

"I guess."

It's convoluted, but there isn't much in the Capitol that isn't at least a little twisted. It's the only way to stay ahead.

Turning, Gale squints into the dreary gray drizzle and sighs.

Madge links her arm with his, rests her head against his shoulder, and tries not to think about what will be coming in only minutes.

It seems surreal.

If things go right, they'll free Panem from the grips of terror. If they fail…

Things will only get worse, and none of them will live to see it.

Snow will make their executions very public and very messy. Being erased from history, like those spearheading the first rebellion, will seem like a kindness compared to the infamy he'll have waiting for them.

Below them, the Capitol is muted. All the vibrant colors, normally illuminated by never ending neon lights and glowing billboards, are washed out and faded. The glittering people that normally twitter around, like a flock of bejeweled butterflies, are nowhere to be seen. All cloistered inside, afraid of what might come from the skies. Even they know a few hovercraft are more than enough to do a lot of damage.

"Figures," Gale mutters, his eyes narrowed on the horizon.

Madge doesn't have to search to find what he's glaring at.

Burning golden and standing tall, the only light for miles, is the Presidential Mansion. President Snow obviously planned ahead, years, decades maybe even, and had his home wired for such an event as a hostile takeover.

Glaring back at Birdy, Gale frowns.

"What if Snow finds out you marked his men? You got a plan for that?"

For a minute Birdy doesn't say anything, just chews her lip and stares at the mansion growing in the shrinking distance before she looks to Gale, her mouth twisted up in a small smile.

"I'll bet anything he has."

Gale waits a moment, then makes a small gesture, encouraging her to go on already.

"And…" He finally prompts her.

Birdy's expression tightens and she chews her cheek.

For the first time it occurs to Madge that Birdy is just as young as she is, probably makes up as much on the fly as she plans out, even if she won't admit it, and might not have an answer to Gale's question. Or at least not a good one.

They're going into this without a solid plan, because as much as they try to play the game with President Snow, he makes the rules, and the odds not in their favor. They never were.

"We're just gonna...go in." She presses her fingers to her eyes, for a moment before looking up, exhausted. "The one advantage we have is that he thinks we think we've got this in the bag. We know we don't."

"I don't see how that's an advantage," Mr. Abernathy grumbles, stumping over from where he'd been eavesdropping and glowering at her. "What, child, is the plan?"

A minute passes, then another, rain spattering into the front windshield and running in thick rivulets down the glass, before Birdy takes a deep breath.

"Go in shooting." She finally looks over, her expression grim. "There's not much else we can do."

Gale makes a strangled noise and glances over his shoulder, making sure Finnick and the others hasn't heard before turning back to Birdy.

"Not exactly your best plan, but at least it's one I can follow for once," he mutters, earning a slight smile from Birdy and a garbled chuckle from Mr. Abernathy.

Madge almost smiles herself, but then remembers the one glaring problem with their course of action.

"But...what about Annie?"

The momentary levity evaporates around them, leaving a cold knot spreading in Madge's chest.

Birdy holds out her hand, letting the blue map of the mansion form again, then points to a faint white light in what looks like the northernmost corner of the building.

"Finnick will go after Annie," she explains. "Him and Anton are more than smart enough to get to her. I'll even give them bullets this time."

Gale laughs, while Madge and Mr. Abernathy exchange confused glances.

"All the security is going to be on President Snow," Birdy points out. "He's going to figure he'll be able to catch anyone who goes after her anyways."

Still wary, Madge nods.

It's a lot of guesswork, assumptions about what a man twisted enough to degrade a large chunk of his country is thinking, how he plans things out, and that makes Madge more than a little terrified.

None of them are President Snow. None of them are as violent and volatile as him. There's no way they can truly know what he'll do.

It's the best they have though. It's all they have.

#######

The hovercraft comes to a stop on the front lawn of the Presidential Mansion, the ramp dropping down onto the entryway steps.

"Nobody home?" Rory asks, his face pressed to the foggy glass beside Charity's.

"They're hiding," the curly haired girl, Gale thinks her name is Chaparral, answers.

"No doubt," Alameda mumbles, checking her gun for what must be the thousandth time in only minutes. She looks up, apparently finally happy her gun hasn't unloaded in the last five seconds, and nods.

"Everyone clear on the plan." She points first to herself, then to each person, clearly wanting to make it undeniably clear just what each of them are to do. "With me, with me, with me, you two together, and the rest of you: Stay put."

The kids grumble, glare, and Rory gives Gale one last hopeful look before conceding defeat.

They'd hoped to be in on the run on the Mansion.

"It's bad enough I've got four people who barely know a barrel from a butt, I'm not taking the rest of you walking, talking targets with me too," Alameda had told them when they'd first made their approach in the Mansion.

"I know how to shoot," the girl from Ten snapped. "Why can't Sorrel and I go?"

"Because you annoy me and I can't guarantee I won't shoot you myself," Alameda quickly replied before smiling sweetly. "Clear?"

Gale had been sure the fuming look on the girl's face meant Alameda was about to get the slap she so rightly deserves, but the girl only ground her teeth.

"So we just...sit in here like a bunch of morons?" Rory asked, looking thoroughly disgusted at every word he's heard.

Alameda shrugged. "However you wanna play it, kiddo."

"Six people isn't enough to-"

"It's plenty." Alameda cut him off. "Small groups are harder to detect. And trust me, we're gonna need all the stealth we can get once we land this monster on the front porch."

"I, for one, think it's a splendid idea," the old Gamemaker, Heavensbee, cheerfully announced, clapping his hands together in delight.

He'd waddled off shortly after to search out food, clearly perfectly content not to be on the front lines or the war he'd helped orchestrate.

Gale fought the urge to fire a shot off over his head, just because the man annoyed him so much. Alameda's violent tendencies were rubbing off on him.

They'd argued a bit more, but when Haymitch had threatened to lock them all in the cargo bay again rather than listen to them yelp, the fight died.

The kids would stay with Mags and Heavensbee in the hovercraft, waiting for a call over the communicator that all was clear, and the rest would go in.

"Be careful," Rory whispers to Gale as he hugs him, his face screwed up in worry. "Promise me you'll be careful."

"I'll be careful," Gale mumbles, hoping he's not seeing his brother for the last time.

No guards greet them as they pad down the ramp, a fact that sets uneasy with Gale.

There should be someone, even if just a single guard, but there isn't so much as the echo of retreating feet. Dead silence and shadowed corners are all that fill the space as they make their way through the front doors.

Wherever they're hiding, he can't so much as feel their eyes on him.

"Creepy place," Anton mutters, gripping his now loaded gun tighter.

"You've been here before haven't you?" Gale asks, his eyes chasing shadows to the dark corners, expecting an ambush at any moment.

He nods, glancing around, then grimaces. "Yeah, but never like this."

They stop at the bottom of a golden gilded staircase that's twice as wide as Gale's house back in Twelve, with a blood red rug running up the steps. It splits half way up and stretches to opposite sides of an enormous landing that's so high it's even with the diamond chandelier that's flooding the entire area with eerie golden light.

Gale cranes his neck to look at the chandelier, and idly thinks how just one of the thousands of diamonds would've fed his family for years.

He shakes the thought off. His family won't be dependent on bartering anymore. Not if things end tonight, and he refuses for Snow's terror to not end tonight.

Alameda pulls out her disc, clicks it, and points to the white light that is Annie.

"She's in the garden room," she tells them before clicking the disc again and handing it to Anton. "Be careful."

He frowns, and Gale gets the impression he's going to say something, but doesn't get to. Finnick is already running up the steps to the right, taking them two and three at a time.

Without even a goodbye, he gives them all a tight nod before chasing after his friend.

Not even waiting for them to reach the top, Gale starts up the steps, his eyes on the top of the left landing. He can't afford to miss something lurking up ahead, not while Madge is slowly making her way behind him.

"You're going to be a liability," Alameda had tried to explain to her again. She'd held up fingers and ticked off reasons Madge shouldn't come into the Mansion. "You're slow, you're huge, and you've never fired a gun."

"I'm not that slow!"

She'd turned to Gale, clearly looking for support, but he'd pretended to be very fascinated with a smudge on the metal of the control panel.

"And how hard is shooting a gun? You just point and pull the trigger."

Gale chanced a glance up, found Alameda pressing her fingers to her eyes, physically pained by Madge's naivety.

Alameda sighed, opened her eyes and gave Madge an exhausted look. "That...that is exactly why you shouldn't come in."

Turning to Gale again, Madge grabbed his hands and squeezed them.

"Gale, I started this, I think I should be allowed to finish it."

Much as Gale wanted to tell her no, absolutely not, he couldn't.

She'd earned the right to end this journey, more than him anyways. She deserved to end this, and he had no real authority to tell her she couldn't. Madge had survived this world without his help, and she didn't need him forcing her to change just because he was uncomfortable.

Slowly, he'd nodded, and Madge had beamed at him.

"Oh god, I'm gonna vomit," Alameda had muttered, walking away from them and making a retching noise.

Haymitch had tried to dissuade her after that, but the decision had been made, and by the only person entitled to make it.

Now though, as they step onto the lush rug at the top of the stairs, Gale wishes he had more of a way with words and had tried to persuade her to stay behind.

Just like the bottom level, the upper landing is washed in deceptively cheerful light.

The rug that lines the hall is as blood red as the one that ran the length of the stairs, plush and thick, muffling their steps as they make their way toward Snow's office, trailing behind Alameda.

Chandeliers, half the size of the one they'd left behind in the main entry, hang in the cold air above them, and there are bizarre, paintings on the walls. Each one has a frozen feel about it, people and creatures seemingly watching them as they walk by, trapped eternally in strange positions, smiling vacantly out at the passing world.

There are giant vases, some painted gold and silver, some tiled elaborately with patterns and the Capitol's emblem emblazoned on them, all filled with long stemmed roses.

They should be pretty, but something about them feels...artificial.

They're white, unnaturally so, almost glowing, and Gale gets an uneasy sensation each time he looks at them.

Ignoring them, he focuses on watching for danger.

Each corner they turn, Gale expects to find Peacekeepers waiting, but it doesn't come.

Aside from Haymitch tripping on the rumpled edge of the rug once, nothing extraordinary happens. That only adds to Gale's uneasiness.

He'd rather have a fight than emptiness, at least a fight let's him know he's going the right way.

An eternity seems to pass before they come to a final hall.

It's dimmer than the main hall, no strange paintings on the walls or vases of unnervingly white roses, just the red rug leading to a set of double doors with golden handles and ornate carvings on the dark wood.

No one speaks, just exchanges tense looks before beginning the journey toward the doors.

The air is colder, stands the hair on Gale's arms on end. It seems to cut right through his body, right down to the bone, and he has to shake off the unsettling sensation that he's walking into a grave.

Gale isn't ready when Haymitch reaches for the door.

"Ready?" Haymitch mouths the word, glancing between them, looking no more eager to open what feels like a tomb than Gale is.

Madge doesn't hesitate, nods sharply, and Gale takes strength from her.

She's survived worse than opening a door, Gale can too.

He gives Haymitch a small nod. It's now or never.

Without another moment's thought, he pushes the doors open and they rush in, guns up.

Their feet stutter to a stop almost instantly.

At first Gale thinks the room is empty. The desk sits across from them, vacant except for a white rose at the center and a high back chair turned away from them.

Glancing around, Gale sees the room is smaller than he'd expected, adding to its deathly atmosphere. He spots a bookshelf, a chair beside a tiny table with a tea set carefully laid out, and then something squirming, making muffled little noises in the corner between the shelf and the wall.

It takes him a moment to realize it's a person.

She's thin, stringy, wild black hair, face buried in her warmly tanned hands, stifling what Gale knows to be sobs.

What grabs Gale's attention though, is her bloody forearm.

He's seconds from rushing over to scoop her up, he can't leave her here while they hunt for Snow, she's injured and terrified, when he hears Madge gasp.

"Annie!"

She starts to run to her, but an icy voice stops her dead.

"I'd leave her be, Miss Undersee."

Gale spins on his heels, gun up, ready to fire, but freezes at what he finds.

Snow is standing with his back to them, staring out at the city through a full length window opposite of them. He'd been just out of their sight, skulking behind the opened door.

"She's had quite a rough evening."

Annie sobs harder.

Snow turns, swirls a glass in his hand, spinning the amber liquid inside before taking it to his unnaturally thin lips and upturning it, emptying it, and smiling at them.

"I'd lower your gun, Mr. Hawthorne. You too, Miss Alameda. If you even twitch your finger on the trigger you'll be dead before you get the shot off."

He waves a lazy hand as he strolls toward the desk.

A dozen Peacekeepers spill in through the still open doors, and trapped between a burly pair are a very battered and defeated looking Finnick and Anton.

Behind Gale, Alameda groans.

"I miscalculated."

Biting his tongue, Gale decides against snapping at her that 'miscalculated' is too gentle a word for the mess her and her scheming have created.

The word fighting to get out of Gale's mouth is much fouler, and would probably get him in trouble with his mom even though he's too old for her to scold for it.

"Finnick!"

Finnick looks up, his lip split and his nose bleeding, one eye swollen shut, and spits blood as he shouts, "Annie!"

Annie, green eyes red rimmed and puffy, pushes herself up, leaving a bloody smear on the wall.

Gale's stomach drops as she grips her arms, just barely able to hide the deep bleeding gash on her forearm.

Looking to the desk, Gale sees the rose isn't alone. It's hiding a sharp dagger, still shining crimson along the blade.

Ice seems to fill Gale's chest, cutting off his breath.

Snow had cut out her tracker.

They'd walked right into a snare, and now they're dangling, struggling, waiting for the death blow that's as certain as the sunrise.

"Finnick!" She cries again, half running toward him before Snow grabs her by the wrist, causing her to scream in pain.

"Stop!" Finnick frantically tries to get away from his captors, but stops when he's hit across the middle with the butt of a gun, crumpling to the ground.

Annie struggles for a moment as everyone else stands frozen in fear before Snow finally throws her to the window.

Her head cracks the glass, and as she falls, still whimpering pitifully, more blood splatters on the wall and window.

"Miss Cresta, please try to control yourself. You may be the only person to get out of this alive."

She nods, wipes her nose as she crawls, slumps on the floor by the desk at Snows feet.

Lips stretching unpleasantly on the tight skin of his ghost white skin, he turns his cold gaze back to the trapped Victors and Gale.

"Did you really think a bunch of avoxes could beat a trained group of Peacekeepers?" He clicks his tongue in disappointment. "Sweet, simple Miss Alameda. Clearly Wiress didn't rub off on you as much as I'd assumed."

"I'd really just hoped they'd keep them busy for a while," Alameda answers, her knuckles white from gripping her gun, her face bloodless.

"Such a disappointment. You've always been quite a good gambler, but I suppose all cheaters' luck runs out eventually."

Snow reaches in the desk and pulls out a bottle of liquor, fills his glass again and takes a drink before licking his lips. It reminds Gale of a snake, scenting the air for its prey.

"We'll round up our Tributes from your stolen hovercraft later, but for the moment, let's discuss the charges that will be filed against you." His smile widens, clearly enjoying having their undivided attention. "Stealing government property, disrupting a national punishment, destruction of multiple government buildings, and of course, this attempt on my life. You'll be executed, don't doubt that, very publicly. Perhaps by hanging, keep up the family tradition for Miss Alameda."

Beside him, Gale feels Madge's fingers, icy cold as ever, lace with his, squeeze tightly around his hand.

He can't look at her, not when everything they've been fighting for has crashed and burned at their feet in such a spectacular fashion.

He's failed her and their baby, his mom and all his siblings.

If he'd been smarter he'd have demanded a bigger part in their little game, maybe he'd have seen something more, had better plans.

Maybe they wouldn't have failed.

"You're a dick," Alameda spits, gripping her gun tighter, eyes shining.

"Such language, Miss Alameda," Snow clicks his tongue again. "We can add behavior unbecoming of a lady to your charges. After I make it a punishable offense, of course."

"Let Madge go," Gale cuts them off, he doesn't have time for their sniping. "She's pregnant and-"

"Then perhaps she should've thought about your precious spawn before engaging in such a poorly thought through endeavor," Snow hisses, his voice not so much as rising. His lips stretch up again as he steps past Annie, now silent on the ground. "Considering she and Mr. Odair are such...simple, easily manipulated creatures, perhaps I can grant them less messy ends."

Gale feels his heart speed up, his hand tightens around Madge's and he's sure he's cutting off the blood to her fingers. He won't let this happen.

His mind frantically searches for an escape for Madge, he's going to save her no matter what.

He could start shooting, throw a punch, create some kind of distraction…

While he's thinking, Snow chuckles, sending a chill up Gale's back.

"I've read that nobility were executed by beheading with a silver sword." He takes another drink. "Still theatrical, but much cleaner than what awaits the-"

Snow coughs, blood splattering on his crisp white button up as a confused expression forms on his face.

For a second Gale isn't sure what's happening, then the glass slips from Snow's spindly fingers, dropping to the ground with a dull thud.

His eyes roll and his body jerks, then a bloody hand wraps around his neck holding a knife.

It's sliced through Snow's neck before Gale even realizes it's the knife from the desk.

It takes seconds for Snow's knees to buckle as his hands uselessly try to stem the flow of blood from the gaping wound on his neck. He falls to the floor with as much grace as a rock as Annie, now caked in her own dried blood and his fresh contribution, stares down at him, tears still dripping off her face.

For a minute no one moves. They all just watch the macabre show playing out feet in front of them, Snow sputters, trying and failing to fight his certain death, breath rattling in his chest, until he stills.

It's less than a second later that Annie looks up.

"Finnick!"

As she runs toward him one of the Peacekeepers raises his gun.

Gale doesn't think, just grabs Madge and pulls her down with him as he lifts his own gun and fires.

The room erupts.

Haymitch and Alameda open fire seconds after Gale, and the Peacekeepers aren't hesitant about shooting back.

The walls echo and Gale's ears ring as the windows around them crack, spider webs forming at the center of blast points. Drapery is shredded and the woodwork splinters, flying in every direction as it explodes.

Despite their numbers, the Peacekeepers fall, one after another, their white uniforms blossoming with scarlet as they drop to the ground in rapidly growing puddles of black-red.

It ends in minutes, leaving the room filled with the smell of singed fabric and a coppery scent Gale recognizes instantly as blood.

A lifetime seems to stretch around them as the dust settles and the ringing dulls Gale's normally sharp ears.

He blinks as he props himself up, trying to clear the smoke from his eyes as he takes in the disaster that's taken form around him, hidden in smoke and dirt.

The walls are pockmarked, gouged out in random patterns all around them. The few paintings that had hung on the wall are nothing but garbage now, crumpled on the ground, shredded into unrecognizable piles.

There's no grandeur, no beauty. It's all ruined.

Finnick is still standing, covered in cuts from the broken glass and debris, but he doesn't seem to care. All that matters to him is Annie launching herself over the dead and into his arms.

They seem to meld into one, clinging to each other, crying so hard they can't even talk.

After the last few hours of worry, anticipating the worst, Finnick is back with Annie, and Gale can't help but smile. Out of all of them, Gale thinks they deserve a happy ending the most.

Looking back down, Gale finds Madge frozen on her side.

There's a faint layer of dust on her hair and face, giving her a ghostly appearance, and the haunted look in her eyes does nothing to discourage that.

Glancing over, Gale almost slips off his propped arms.

Snow is lying just a few feet away, eyes half open, mouth gaping as if gasping for air, shock at what's happened still etched on his face. Any trace of color has drained from his skin, all spilled out on his shirt and glistening on his hands, leaving him more waxy and corpse-like than before.

After all he'd done, all the pain he'd caused, Snow is dead.

It's feels anticlimactic, that after all the planning and lies, it's over.

Cool fingers brush his cheek, drawing his attention away from Snow's lifeless body.

"You're bleeding," Madge murmurs, her fingers leaving his cheek and coming away shining with blood.

Ignoring her worried expression, Gale sits back on his legs, pulling Madge up and grabbing her by the shoulders, searching her for injury.

"I'm fine," she assures him, reaching out again and trying to wipe away a trickle of blood at his temple. "You're the one bleeding."

"Just got grazed."

Her nose wrinkles up and she looks like she's about to argue, but is cut short when someone groans by the wall.

"Mr. Abernathy!"

Gale pulls her to her feet and helps her over the body that's fallen across their path and to where Haymitch is propped up against the wall, one bloody hand grasping his shoulder.

Shaking hands reaching up, Madge presses her palms over his hands to help staunch the oozing. "We need to put pressure on it."

"Let me," Gale gently pushes her hands away. She needs to calm down, she's shaking too hard to be much help at the moment anyways.

Haymitch grimaces as Gale crushes his hand over the bullet wound at his shoulder, getting more than a little satisfaction at causing the old asshole pain.

After all this snide remarks and dirty looks he's given Gale over the years, he deserves a little tough love for his injury.

"Just keep holding it," Madge tells him, nodding distractedly as she hold Haymitch's good hand. "It's gonna be okay. You'll be okay."

"Course I will be, sweetheart," Haymitch chuckles. "Not giving up after all this."

He smiles and squeezes her hand back, and Gale rolls his eyes, glancing around to find anything but the ugly bastard's face to focus on.

Alameda has apparently recovered from the shock of a shoot out, and is helping the badly limping Anton out from under a fallen Peacekeeper.

Once he's fully on his feet, standing gingerly on his bloody leg, Anton gazes around, one eyebrow arched up.

"So," Gale faintly hears him say, the ringing becoming fainter, "was this Plan Z?"

Alameda's mouth twitches up as she gives one of the bodies a shove with her heel.

"Baby, this wasn't even in the alphabet."


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I'm just playing with Suzanne Collins' characters and her world. They're hers. Not mine. Any lines from the books are hers too.
> 
> AN: As always, thanks to Nursekelly for helping.

Despite the fact that Snow is dead, the fighting doesn't stop, not immediately. There aren't many left loyal to the Capitol and the old regime, but the ones that are certainly have fire in them.

Roving bands of Peacekeepers crop up, destroy land and homes, kill without thought, threatening the rebel control.

They battle over strategic stretches of rail line, wrecking land travel in and out of the Capitol, cutting off supplies both ways.

There simply aren't enough members of the rebellion skilled enough to fight them on the ground. After only a few weeks it's decided that a strong show of force is the only way squash them and protect those in the districts.

It's a cool early morning when the rebellion sends out half a dozen hovercrafts and firebombs the forests and caverns those loyal to Snow are held up in.

"We won't hesitate to do this again," a woman, Commander Paylor, a leader from the Districts, chosen to be the face of the rebellion, tells the nation from the front steps of the presidential mansion. Behind her, someone has strung Snow up. He sways strangely in the breeze, dried blood smeared on his face and clothes, now in tatters, eyes plucked out by birds. He makes an appropriately grisly backdrop for such an announcement. "We will not tolerate the blood of the innocent being spilled. If fire is what you want, then you'll burn."

Even with the airspace more or less in strictly rebel hands, keeping the masses connected and fed isn't easy.

It's a logistics nightmare as Mr. Latier and other rebels with the skill and knowledge repair computers that control everything from the trains and hovercraft to heating and air, electricity in all the districts.

Still, having shaky utilities and needing to feed themselves is hardly a hardship on most in the districts, especially with the majority of the Peacekeepers defanged, no longer arresting starving citizens for poaching. They aren't under constant threat of death or arrest, and that makes all the difference.

Those in the Capitol take a much bleaker view of things.

"We starving!" They complain on the news, even as they hold rations in their hands. "We have no water, no air, no television!"

"You'd think we were torturing them," Finnick mutters as he wanders into Madge's hospital room, flopping into a fluffy chair beside Annie.

"They're still better cared for than anyone outside the Capitol," Gale adds irritably.

"Man cannot survive on squeeze-to-heat-and-eat-burritos alone," Birdy chirps from the doorway. She then pulls a burrito from her ragged purse. "Though we could try."

She tosses it to Mr. Abernathy, stretched out on a chaise by the window, and it lands with a plop on his belly.

Madge just sighs and flops back on her bed.

She's been trapped in the hospital for an entire month, 'recovering' from the ordeal at the mansion, even though she didn't have so much as a scratch on her.

They'd taken her there to check the baby, then kept her there as fighting had broken out across the Capitol, 'pods' of unspeakable horrors unleashed as the final act of the falling government. It was for her safety, and she'd accepted the confinement for the baby's sake. There was hope now that things might all come out well, and she didn't need to be running head first into the madness around her.

She doesn't care though. She's never had any interest in being part of the government, not the one they've just destroyed nor the new one they're building. Her heart has always been settled closer to home, and for the first time in her life, she thinks she might just get to live the life she's always dreamed of. A simple life, no one watching, no one jeering, just her and her and those she holds dearest.

Being stuck in the hospital isn't a hardship on her. The quiet does her good, lets her rest and focus, breath, be just herself after all the games she's had to play. It gives her time to enjoy her impending motherhood for the first time.

Mr. Abernathy and Gale were there with her, along with Finnick, Annie, Rory, and Charity, and their company kept her occupied for the first few days.

They'd all been much worse off than her.

Annie had needed stitches, blood, and a sedative, while Finnick and Gale had only needed their wounds cleaned and bandaged.

Mr. Abernathy had been taken to surgery to remove a bullet fragment and suture a blood vessel in this shoulder, and helping him recover had given Madge a purpose as she'd sat pointlessly in the sterile hospital and waited for word that it was safe to go home.

That's all she wants. She'd done her part, helped free Panem from Snow's control, all she wants is to go home and raise her baby with Gale.

There are others willing and able, much more capable than her, ready to build a new nation, and she trusts her friends to help them do that.

Birdy flittered in and out, bringing news and updates, sometimes footage on her compact.

Occasionally, Gale and Rory went with her.

Unlike Finnick, who was at ease to stay in the hospital and hold Annie's hand as she recovers, Gale isn't made to sit idly by. He needs to be helping, doing something.

He'd vanish for hours, come back smelling of smoke and heat, dust and debris clinging to his dark hair and clothing, telling her about the efforts he'd been part of.

"We dug out one of the train tunnels they collapsed," he'd told her after one of his first trips. "Since I worked in the mines I had a lot of the practical knowledge to blast it open."

There'd been a hint of pride in his voice. He was getting to be more than a pretty face, more than just the man that got Madge pregnant. There was excitement and purpose for him after days of being trapped playing a game he didn't understand and never wanted any part of.

Madge half wondered if he'd want to stay and continue the rebuilding even once the means to leave were back.

Rory certainly seemed like he might.

"Chaparral is staying," he'd mentioned. "She and Sorrel are going to help keep the distribution lines open."

Madge had almost pointed out that there was really no home for Chaparral or Sorrel to go home to, unlike Rory, but kept the thought to herself. There'd been no point bringing it up until she had to.

Still, when the phones were restored days later, neither Gale nor Rory even hinted that they'd want to remain in the Capitol.

They're every bit as eager as she is to leave the strange world they'd been plucked up and dropped into.

"Tell Vick and Posy I'm bringing them this hard candy," Rory told his mother, holding a colorful bag up and inspecting it. "It tastes like pineapple and mango, whatever those are."

"I'll be so happy when everyone is back together again," Hazelle had sighed over the crackling phone line. "I miss you all so much."

She really only meant Gale and Rory, but Madge appreciated her pretending she cared about her as well.

"You'll be able to have the baby here, that'll nice, won't it dear?" Madge's own mother had cooed over the line. "Have you picked a name yet?"

Smiling, Madge told her no, running a hand over her ever expanding belly and hoping she would in fact get to have it back in Twelve.

As they days and weeks crept by, she'd harbored the growing worry that she and Gale's baby was going to be born into one of the strange white birthing rooms at the south end of the hospital.

There was something awful about those rooms, manufactured and sterile, as if the baby were a product to be displayed.

It's exactly what their baby would've been if Snow were still in charge.

"She's gonna be born at home," Gale assured her, when she'd voiced her fear to him, woken him with her crying in the small hours of the night.

He'd held her and combed her hair, pressed kisses against her skin.

"If I have to carry you across Panem myself, this kid is being born at home."

He had no power to keep that promise, but Madge let herself believe him anyways. She needed to believe it.

It feels more and more like it'll be a lie though, as she gets bigger and the trains and hovercrafts remain either unreliable or unable to take them home, still wholly occupied with keeping food and medicine moving between the districts.

"Any word on those congressmen?" Mr. Abernathy asks, sitting up and opening his burrito, tearing into it messily.

"Chaff's men found them. They've been dealt with," Birdy answers, brushing greasy hair from her face. "We hung them in the shopping district, along the river."

It's a brutal but effective way of controlling the unhappy Capitol citizens. If they want to believe the rebels are monsters, they'll gladly give them reason for it. Displaying the former men and women who'd created the laws that crushed the spirits and life from the districts and then continued to try and stir up trouble once they'd been ousted as nothing more than trophies is a cruel but effective way of showing the rebels have been paying attention for seventy plus years.

They may not want to be the government they're replacing, but that won't stop them using some of their more creative tactics until things have quieted down.

Madge doesn't like it, feels its borrowing too much from Snow's playbook, controlling by terror, but she understands it.

There are simply too few rebels to allow former government officials to remain alive and creating unrest while they work to set up something better in the wake of a war. Killing them and making examples of them is the most effective way to maintain control for the time being.

It isn't perfect, but it's the way it has to be. For now.

"It's been awhile since we've had to do that," she adds when she sees Madge's exhausted expression. "I don't like it either, you know?"

Madge does, and she knows that if there were a better option they'd take it. Things had happened too swiftly for a less awful choice to be formed.

"I didn't come to talk about that anyways," Birdy grumbles, slumping against the wall and crossing her arms. She shoots Mr. Abernathy an agitated look. "I actually came with good news. The rail has been restored to Twelve."

Madge's heart stops and she sits up, stares at Birdy in disbelief.

She can't form words, just waits for her friend to laugh and tell her she's only joking. She always is it seems.

It doesn't come though.

"I thought there was still a stretch between there and Eleven that was blown?" Gale asks, his skepticism plain on his face.

A little grin forms on Birdy's lips.

"Oh Dorothy, still underestimating me."

#######

They switch from the restored train line to an older rail system at the edge of Eleven.

It's ancient, but well maintained, all for the use of Capitol citizens who'd wanted to see nature from the safe confines of a luxurious train.

"Mostly it was used by those of us that had to get between districts without being noticed," Alameda explained as Madge waddled to the dusty car. "Most of them have been destroyed, but this one got missed."

Gale snorts. Of course they'd had their own secret train system.

"Vaya con dios, my friends," she told them as they boarded the train. "Good luck with the spawn."

Madge had grabbed her, clutched her tight in a hug. "You'll come see me, won't you? With Annie and Finnick?"

Before they'd left the Capitol, Madge had made both Finnick and Annie promise they'd come to Twelve and visit her.

"You've been my family all these years," she'd sniffled. "I don't want to lose you."

Annie had smiled softly, given her a gentle hug. "A hurricane couldn't keep us away."

Finnick had nodded, eyed Gale and Rory and smiled warmly. "And you'll come to Four, too. All of you."

Rory grinned. "I wouldn't miss girls in bikinis for anything."

Madge had rolled her eyes at that.

"I dunno. If I want to visit a backwater hell hole I can just go back to my district," Alameda told her before snorting. "Of course I will. Need to make sure Gabrigale's taking care of you."

Gale didn't even bother grumbling about her newest name for him, just rolled his eyes and reminded her they wanted to make it home before night.

"I'll miss you too, Dorothy," she shouted as she jumped from the bottom most step and spun to grin at them.

"Like the plague," he muttered as the train shuddered and started forward.

They'd picked up speed in only seconds, the scenery blurring past, melting into a flash of greens and blues, growing darker as night crept in.

It's evening by the time the train begins slowing. Outside the sky is indigo and purple, the last of the daylight vanishing over the horizon.

Haymitch is at the window, holding to an overhead rail as the train lurches to a stop and the door clicks, unlocking.

Outside, Gale can see his mom, Vick, Posy, Madge's parents, and Charity's mom and sisters, all hovering at the edge of the train's light, warm shadows dancing over them as they wait.

"Ready, sweetheart?" Haymitch asks, jerking his head toward the door where Rory is waiting impatiently, hand on the handle, with a tearful Charity wringing her hands beside him.

Madge nods and wraps her hand in Gale's, cool fingers pressing to his skin, as she smiles.

Gale pulls her to her feet.

"Let's go home."

########

Epilogue

Madge wakes, squints into the dim light filtering through the curtains.

It's Reaping Day, or it would be, if there were still Reapings.

Reapings though, the Games and all the pageantry around them, are nothing but fading memories. Sad and twisted bits of history never to be repeated.

Madge, the other Victors and all the Tributes, are just names in history books. They're part of an awful past that shouldn't be forgotten but that they can't be mired in either.

At her back, she feels warmth and sighs.

Sometimes she still wakes and expects to be alone. Long years of Gale having to leave her for the mines still hanging in her mind.

More ghosts of the past still haunting her present, despite her best efforts.

He's still with her though, despite all the trouble she's been, all the trouble she's caused, he hasn't abandoned her.

She snuggles closer, presses her ear to his chest and closes her eyes, memorizing the steady beat of his heart.

They're alive and together. It's more than she'd ever hoped for.

Gale's body shifts, his arms tighten around her and she feels his warm breath ghost through her hair before he presses a kiss into it.

"Good morning," he murmurs.

Before Madge can mutter a sleepy reply, she hears the bedroom door creak open and a set of little feet pad softly across the floor, one a little less steadily than the other.

"Momma," Glen whispers loudly, just out of sight, hidden behind Gale. "Daddy, we see'd a turkey!"

Madge almost laughs when Savanna makes a squealing noise of delight and begins blubbering inarticulately.

Grinning, Gale chuckles and rolls over to looks at them.

"Well? Should we go get it?"

Both Glen and Savanna shout in excitement, race out of the room to get dressed for what they feel is a great treat.

Still laughing, Gale sits up, pops his shoulders and sighs.

"Time to face the day."

With a groan, he pushes himself to his feet and heads to the closet for clothes as Madge stays nestled in the bed.

He won't remember that it would be Reaping Day. Probably no one, except her and Mr. Abernathy, the other last of the Victors, will have the old date saved in their mind.

She thinks that's for the best.

The ghosts that haunt them are theirs alone, for better or worse, and she wouldn't wish them on anyone else.

"You okay?" Gale asks, his eyebrow pulled together in concern as he crosses the room, straightening his shirt as he goes.

Madge nods, gives him a small smile.

"Fine." She shrugs. "Just thinking."

He nods, runs a hand through his hair, his expression somber.

"About the Reaping?"

It takes minute for her to register what he's said, but when she does, she doesn't bother denying it.

"It just-it seems so long ago, but it wasn't."

A lifetime feels like its come and gone since she was the Diamond Girl from District Twelve, since she played for packed concert halls, since she killed to survive.

The world has changed so much, and it all seems so distant, it might be all a dream.

Despite the memorials, the yearly remembrances she and the others so often attend, Madge fears it'll all be washed from the country's memory.

People will forget. Sometimes Madge thinks she's forgetting.

Time will pass, and just like everything else, people will forget the suffering. They'll forget the Reapings and the Games, all of it. It'll all be nothing but fable, a warning easily brushed aside.

Tears begin falling, dripping off her cheeks, and she furiously swats them away.

Warm arms wrap around her, and she lets Gale pull her to his chest.

"No one's forgotten," he whispers. "No one ever will. We won't let them."

It might be a lie, but it's one he must believe, if the certainty in his voice is any indication.

She hopes it's the truth, that the world isn't as fickle and forgetful as she imagines.

Gale presses a kiss to her hair and Madge sighs.

This, she thinks as she holds him close, hears their children running in the hall of what was once her tomb that she and Gale have made their home, is what Victory should feel like.

The future may be uncertain, but they're still writing it, with every heartbeat that passes, every action they take.

Even if all the pain of the Games is forgotten and comes to pass again, people will fight against it.

For now, all they can do is raise Glen and Savanna to be brave, to know what their parents love helped build, to be good people.

It's not a game anymore, not part of some great play put on for strangers.

This is the life that they'd fought for.

It's a world apart from where they'd been, it's their victory, and they can't waste it worry over what might come.

Wiping the last of the tears away, Madge stands and pulls Gale to his feet, smiles brightly.

They have a lot of living yet to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: And that's it. I wanted to tie things up and didn't want to drag it out, so hopefully I accomplished that. It's not perfect, but nothing ever is. This story has been an exercise in patience, and I hope it didn't disappoint anyone too badly. Thanks for sticking with this series over the years. Now on to my next adventure.


End file.
